Diary of a Not So Wimpy Vampire
by ProbableImpossibilities
Summary: Alucard's un-cut, un-edited, play-by-play version of his life as a servant of Hellsing. It's not a diary, it's a fan-fic! Sorry for recent late-ness. I'm a slacker.
1. Of Priests and Police Girls

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing, but I think most people already knew that._

Diary of a Not-So-Wimpy Vampire

Tuesday

Okay, let me get a few things straight. This is not a diary; it is an _autobiography_. I do not know what would give Sir Integra the idea that I (I, the No-Life King, fearsome, bloody ruler of the night) would ever write in a diary, but that is what she seems to believe is happening here. Despite my best attempts to relieve her of this preposterous idea, she seems to have got it firmly in her head that her Servant is writing a diary, and the notion cannot be removed from her cranium. I just want to make sure that anyone who may find themselves reading this knows that this is an autobiography, not a diary.

Also, I find it hard to keep track of dates. So, it is best for me to only write down the day of the week, rather than the formal date. Sir Integra learned this lesson the hard way when she asked me to help her with paperwork, although I still do not understand why she is so angry. Accidentally writing the date as 'April 23, 1783' on every single one of her papers is not really that big of a mistake.

Anyway, today my Master has commissioned me to deal with a rogue vampire in the village of Cheddar. I must admit, I was rather let down when I found out that it is not made out of cheese. Just one more thing I do not understand about humans. If you're going to name a village "Cheddar", shouldn't it be made out of cheese? Or at least have something to do with cheese? I would live there if it was made out of cheese... but I digress.

Apparently some idiot at the London Police Department has already dispatched three units to Cheddar. It's so annoying when they do this. The police can't do anything except get turned into ghouls, and police ghouls are even more annoying than regular ghouls. Imagine, if you will, a swarm of gnats. These are the regular ghouls. Now imagine a swarm of kindergartners who want you to play 'house' with them and buy them popsicles. These are the police ghouls. They are annoying as heck and they will not leave me alone. Of course, I do have fun wantonly slaughtering them, but it gets old after a while. That's why I believe I will just go straight for the vampire this time around. I don't feel like playing 'exterminator' tonight.

Wednesday

My Master is rather angry with me today, and I can understand why. Still, she sent me to bed early this morning, so I'm being defiant and staying up late in the afternoon to write this while inside my coffin. Believe me, this is no easy task. It's hard to hold a pen, paper, and flashlight at the same time while lying on your stomach inside a box that was not meant for this sort of thing. Besides, it's about 10:00 A.M., and I'm rather tired. So, excuse my penmanship.

The reason for my early-morning lockdown? Well, last night I brought home a fledgling. It's a rather long story, but I'll write it down anyway. I got to the village of Cheddar, and I encountered surprisingly few ghouls upon my arrival. Usually, they're all over me as soon as I set foot on their 'turf', so I figured something was fishy. Actually, it turns out that there was, in fact, a lot of fish in the village of Cheddar; some ghouls had apparently intercepted a travelling fish-monger and stolen his goods. However, I figured Sir Integra would not want any rotten Tilapia, so I moved on and left the bad pun behind. Well, okay, that's a lie. After that I couldn't stop thinking, "One fish, two fish," but nobody I know really needs to find out about that.

Anyway, I took a bit of a leisurely stroll in the moonlight. I did run into a couple of straggling ghouls, which I can tell you were dispatched quickly and nonchalantly, but other than that, it was pretty quiet. I found the whole thing rather intriguing, actually, so after a suitable amount of time I decided to stop smelling the roses and get the job done. I could sense a large gathering of ghouls in a clearing nearby, so I figured that was where the vampire was hiding. As always, I was right (no surprises there). However, as I got closer to said clearing, I noticed something odd; I could sense the consciousness of a human. A living, breathing, un-undead (?) human. Originally, I'd just taken my time, assuming that the ghouls had simply killed everyone. After all, there aren't usually any survivors on this type of job. Still, what I was sensing was definitely a bona-fide human being, so that made the stakes of this engagement slightly higher. Master has made it clear that keeping any human victims alive should be relatively high on my priority list for this type of thing, within reason, of course. Thus, I realized I would probably have to go out of my way to save this one, and I'll admit, that did put a bit of a damper on my previously high spirits. Normally it's far more fun to simply kill everything in sight, but this time I would have to make sure I didn't hit whoever it was.

I strode into the clearing, and that's when I noticed a couple of things that would affect the course of events later on that night.

First thing I noticed: there were a ton of ghouls. And I mean a ton; this freak had actually managed to assemble a small army. I was slightly impressed for a brief instant.

Second thing I noticed: the vampire, dressed as a priest, was in the center of the clearing, attempting to rape someone.

Third thing: the "someone" being raped was the human survivor I'd noticed earlier, who just happened to be a police girl with blond hair.

Fourth thing: she had really, really big boobs.

That last one was probably what made events unfold as they did that night. Now, before you label me a pervert or a pimp, let me explain myself. They were REALLY big. I am a male. Do the math.

Biology lesson aside, I suddenly found myself extremely motivated to save this particular human, so I decided to make my presence known to the freak before he violated her. He asked, "Who the heck are you?" I told him, "Your death." Then I mumbled, "Red fish, dead fish." Okay, so I read a lot of Doctor Seuss. Get over it. After that he proceeded to blather on about something or other, and then I think he tried to kill me by having all his ghouls shoot at me. I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention. It's always the same with this so-called vampire rabble; they're all so unoriginal. Anyway, I came back to life after being torn apart by who-knows-how-many bullets and whatnot, and I allowed myself the customary satisfaction of watching the freak, well, freak out. I love looking at people's faces when they see me regenerate. One time I made an annoying cosplayer pee his pants _and_ barf his innards _at the same time_. Oh, the hidden joys of being a creature of the night. :D

After that, the vamp realized he couldn't possibly defeat me, so he resorted to fighting dirty: he started using the girl as a shield. That kind of threw me a little, but it's not like I didn't expect it. These cockroaches are capable of stooping far lower than most people think they would. At first, I was a little put-out that I'd have to kill her, but then I got an idea. I asked the girl if she was a virgin, and amazingly, she said yes. _Jackpot!_ I thought, and without really thinking rationally, I shot one of my silver-tipped bullets right through the center of her chest. She fell over, and I quickly plunged my hand through the freak vampire's heart before I could realize the consequences of what I was doing. The 'priest' dissipated into a pile of dust, and that's when it happened. The _piece de resistance_ of my scheme, and the reason I am currently being punished. I turned the police girl into a vampire.

Granted, it was not the wisest decision I ever made. I probably should have found out more about her personality or whatever _before_ I turned her. But I really wasn't thinking about that when it happened. I was probably thinking more along the lines of, _Ooh! Blond hair, blue eyes, __and__ B Negative! What a package!_ Still, whatever may have been going through my mind is now moot, since it is impossible to undo what I've done. The police girl, Seras Victoria, is now my fledgling. At least she seems to have good skills with a gun.

And that is the reason Master is so very unhappy with me. I tried to spin things towards a positive side, saying things like 'having another vampire in the Hellsing forces makes for a good backup plan' and 'I promise I'll remember to feed it', but Sir Integra could only think about how much money buying _twice_ the current amount of medical blood would cost. I read her mind, and I think she's also a little jealous, but she won't admit it out loud. I don't understand why; the Police Girl is my slave, not my girlfriend. And I have no romantic interest in Master anyway, so what reason would she have to be jealous? I often find myself not understanding humans, but I more often find myself not understanding _women_. It puzzles me how the women I've encountered can be so very different from the men. Perhaps women are really the descendants of an alien species that came to populate this planet millions of years ago. Not that I believe in UFOs, but that is the only feasible explanation I've been able to find thus far for the strange behaviours of the opposite sex. People seem to think that because I can take the form of a little girl, that means that I should be able to understand women, but that's not really the case.

I think that's all I'll write for now. Do you know why? I just got ink all over the Police Girl, and she's attempting to bludgeon me with a lamp. I, of course, am not threatened by this, but it's becoming impossible to write. So, I think I'll stop here.


	2. Man on a Mission

_Disclaimer: Own Hellsing or Diary of a Wimpy Kid, I do not. –Yoda_

Entry Two – Man on a Mission

Thursday

Tonight was my first mission with the Police Girl. I must admit, neither of us were really looking forward to it, because I'm finally starting to have second thoughts about this whole fiasco, and she now thinks I'm a total creep (which is probably true, I guess). Funny story behind that, actually. You see, on the night I brought the Police Girl home, I laid her in bed and waited in my room for her to wake up. Since my chambers are right next to hers, separated only by a stone wall, I would be able to sense the instant she returned to consciousness. I wanted to be the first to welcome my new fledgling to Hellsing.

Well, I waited for a couple of hours. I read a little bit of Macbeth and played a game of Jenga with myself. Finally, I sensed that the Police Girl was awake, so I immediately phased into her room. Well, lo and behold, there she was, lifting up her shirt. I just stood there, transfixed, not capable of thinking anything more complex than amazement at how impeccably timed my entrance was. However, after only a brief glance, she sighed in relief and put her shirt back down. It was then that I realized she was probably just making sure that hole wasn't still in her chest, and that struck me as funny, so I grinned.

Somehow, I'd ended up sitting on the bed next to her, even though I don't recall ever sitting down. Probably because I was not fully capable of conscious thought. Anyway, she saw me sitting on the bed next to her, grinning like a crazy maniac, and probably figured I was a rapist or something. So she screamed, and that was enough to jolt me from my stupor long enough to realize that I'd just made a horrible first impression. So I stood up, backed away from the bed, and tried to change the subject by asking her how it felt to be a vampire. My efforts only made things worse, however, because for some reason she didn't seem to like the idea of being a vampire and she started screaming bloody murder. I'll admit, that made me a little angry. I guess the feeling I had right then was something like what a cheerleader might feel if you told her that her high school sucked, except far less preppy. How dare she insult vampire kind like that? It's not like I forced it on her; she asked for it! If she didn't want to be a vampire, she could've just said 'no'. That would have saved me a lot of trouble... but I digress.

It was at this point that Sir Integra and Walter entered the scene. My Master rebuked the Police Girl for being too loud, but she didn't say anything to me, so I figured she didn't know about what I'd stumbled in on. I would have serious fear for my unlife if she found out about that, believe me. Sir Integra explained Hellsing to the Police Girl, Walter gave her a uniform, somebody showed her around, yadda yadda yadda. I figured that keeping my distance from her was probably my best bet right then, because I wanted the awkwardness to subside a little before we started operating on a more personal level. So I sat in the basement for a while, mostly just reading and playing with Baskerville. That hellhound has got to be the strangest hellhound on the face of the earth. He won't ever do anything fun with me, like play catch with a mace or take turns using the Iron Maiden or the Guillotine. All he wants to do is fetch sticks, chase squirrels, and play with that bone-shaped squeaky toy he found in the garbage. I think he has "Velveteen Rabbit Syndrome", because he seems to think he's a real dog. I tried to take him to the vet, but she screamed and had a fatal heart attack, so I don't really know how to get him treated for it.

Anyway, Sir Integra noticed that I wasn't leaving the basement, so she assumed that another mission would rectify my strange behavioral patterns. Unfortunately, she failed to realize that the Police Girl was the cause of my self-induced isolation, so she decided to have me and my new fledgling work together on this one. I wanted to object, but if I told my Master why I was staying away from Seras, she'd probably kill me 'til I died. And so it was that the Police Girl and I ended up at a little house in the sticks, chasing fourth-rate vampires. When we arrived at the scene, I decided to station the Police Girl on the roof. There were a number of reasons for this, the main one being that keeping her on the roof would effectively separate us for the duration of the mission. Plus, I knew a thing or two about being on the roof during a mission; Sir Integra used to send me up there as punishment for one reason or another. I've found that you rarely see any sort of action while on the roof, so sending the Police Girl up there would keep her from potentially messing anything up. Not that I didn't have faith in my fledgling, but, umm... You know that Bible verse about how faith the size of a mustard seed can grow into a giant, towering tree? Well, my faith in her was about half a mustard seed right then.

With her on the roof, I felt confident that this mission would be a breeze. After all, there were only two freaks, no ghouls to speak of, and the targets were lowly cockroaches that didn't have the intelligence to pick up after themselves. So I headed straight for the front door, and I rang the bell, just to freak out whoever was in there. Behind the door, I heard a gun being cocked, so I fired a bunch of rounds into the door itself to see if I could hit the freak through the door. Unfortunately, the door didn't really stand up to my barrage, and it kind of disintegrated before I could really hit him. So I stepped through the frame and let him hit me. Walter disapproves of my so-called "sick fascination with masochism", but to me, getting torn to shreds is a talent. And like most people who have incredible talents, I flaunt mine. I've also been practicing walking forward into a hail of bullets while my body parts drop onto the floor. So far I can go at least twenty feet before my head separates from my neck or somebody shoots off my legs. So really, this one kid with the aim of a blind chimpanzee and a clip the size of my pinky finger was rather laughable.

I would have played with him for a little bit, like pretended to die or something, but I'd overheard a conversation he'd had earlier with his girlfriend, and what they'd been talking about had made me very angry. They said they were going to be invincible and have eternal life. As if! There's no such thing as an immortal freak. All things die eventually; we vampires just die a lot later than most people do. What made me really angry, though, was the fact that they seemed to think they could become Nosferatu. There have only been a couple of Nosferatu throughout the entire course of history, myself being one of them. And these juvenile delinquents who preyed upon unarmed, harmless women and babies dared to place themselves among their ranks!

Well, the idiot ran out of ammo, so I gave him a thorough verbal bashing before I started shooting him. I've found that no matter what I say, if I start talking to people right before I kill them, their fear level goes up, like, twenty notches. One time I told this guy I was going to buy him a blueberry muffin, and he started wigging out and having a panic attack. It was classic. Of course, my favorite experience with this occurred on a mission in India. I'm not Indian, nor do I speak Indian-ese, so I uttered a bunch of random crap that I made up off the top of my head: "Maim tumhem marane aura eka steak mem apane pavitra gava banana ke lie jar aha hum." Well, it turns out that the aforementioned random gibberish is actually Hindi, and it translates to, "I'm going to kill you and make your sacred cow into a steak." I had no idea that this was the case, so when the woman screamed and ran to protect her bovine deity, I just chalked it up to one more thing I didn't understand about humans.

Anyway, I shot the guy a couple of times, then I executed my trademark hand-through-the-heart death blow, and he exploded into a blood stain in the shape of a cross. _Alright,_ I thought to myself. _Time to get the girl. _But when I looked for her, she wasn't there. I searched the whole house, but I couldn't find hide or hair of her. It was at this point that I realized she must have escaped, and that it was now up to the Police Girl to make sure she didn't get away. I'll admit, that made me a little worried, so I decided to keep up constant telepathic communication with her to make sure everything went as planned. But after a couple of seconds, she still hadn't taken the shot. _C'mon, Police Girl, we're wasting time here,_ I told her. _I want to get back to HQ in time for __The Office__._ Then she started whining about how horrible her situation was: "Waah, she's so far away, I don't have a scope, it's dark, my makeup's smearing, waah, waah, waah." Okay, so that's not a direct quote, but that's what it sounded like to me. So I levitated up to the roof and told her, _That's a human complaint. You're not human anymore, so take the friggin' shot before I have to take it for you!_

She pulled the trigger, and about a second later, the female freak was officially out of commission. I was about to congratulate my fledgling, but then she started staring at her hand. It was kind of creepy; she just sat there, holding her hand up in front of her face and staring at it. It was like she was telepathically communicating with it or something, and I still have no idea why she was staring at it like that. After, like, five minutes of watching her stare at her hand, I started to get this really creepy feeling, so I just kind of went back down to the lawn and left her on the roof.

Friday

Sir Integra found out about what happened with Seras and her boobs. I'm willing to bet the Police Girl snitched on me, because she was kind of angry that I left her sitting on the roof of that house all night. In any case, my Master was absolutely furious, and she chained my hands and feet to the wall and forced me to listen to a three-hour speech about respecting women. Then she spilled my supply of medical blood for this month all over the floor, and commanded me to clean up every inch of it with a toothbrush. As if that's not bad enough, she's making me write "I will not act like a mindless pervert and look at people's breasts" fifty-thousand times.

I will not act like a mindless pervert and look at people's breasts.

I will not act like a mindless pervert and look at people's breasts.

I will not act like a mindless pervert and look at people's breasts.

I will not act like a mindless pervert and look at people's breasts.

I will not act like a mindless pervert and look at people's breasts.

I will not act like a mindless pervert and look at people's breasts... this is gonna take a while.


	3. Judas Priest

Saturday

Not much going on tonight... Police Girl is trying to get me to watch 'Twilight' with her. Frankly, she has as much chance of doing that as a blizzard in Hell. I've heard all the horror stories about that series from Sir Integra; from what I've heard, something that irredeemably pathetic is bound to give me day-mares, or even send me into conniptions. Just as water is fire's natural enemy, and light is the enemy of darkness, so is retarded-ness the enemy of awesome-ness. And as I am incredibly awesome, exposing myself to something so incredibly retarded is hazardous to my health.

The Police Girl, on the other hand, thinks that Twilight is the greatest thing since sliced baloney, and she won't stop badgering me to watch it with her. She even had the gall to bribe me with my favorite ice cream: black raspberry topped with blood and Mrs. Butterworth! She even put a black cherry on top! That creature is stooping seriously low to get me to watch this movie with her. Has she no shame? In any case, I have decided that I will never bow to her demands, no matter how enticing that ice cream may be. I have a resolve of iron! I will not be tempted by delicious, creamy goodness, even though the taste is absolutely delectable and I could seriously eat it forever and ever amen. And with good virgin blood on top (sweet ambrosia!) mingling lightly with the cool viscosity of sugary, mass-market syrup, accented by a sweet, juicy cherry, the colorful festival of flavors leaves me simply drooling with anticipation and... Oh, guano. I swear, I'd better stop writing about this before I either give in or keel over.

Sunday

Sunday, bloody Sundaaaaay... Sorry, I'm on a bit of a U2 fetish.

Actually, that song would have been a pretty good description of what happened tonight, since it's about the war between the Protestants and the Catholics in Ireland. I bet you can already see where this is going, but I'll start at the beginning before I unload any more inadvertent spoilers.

My Master sent the Police Girl and I on a mission to a little town in Ireland called "Badrick". What is with these little towns and their deceiving names? First there was Cheddar, which had nothing to do with cheese, and now there's Badrick, which I assumed was named after someone named Rick who was bad. When I told her this, the Police Girl kind of eyed me funny. I don't know why; Bad Rick makes sense to me. Sir Integra told me I just don't operate on the same frequency as the rest of the world, which I took as a compliment. In this modern world, originality is a ghost town that's about as hard to get to as Andromeda Galaxy. Of course, once you finally do get there people start to think something's wrong with your psyche.

Anyway, the Police Girl and I were in Badrick. It was a beautiful night; the moon shone like silver, the stars shone unpolluted by city lights, there was a faint scent of lilies in the crisp, clean air, and we were killing ghouls. It was so lovely, it was practically Tennyson. Of course, we had to go inside to find the vampire, but the house had plenty of windows, so I could still soak in the poetic-ness of the night. The Police Girl seemed to be holding back a bit, and I noticed her ghoul-slaughtering was not quite up to snuff. So, I gave her the "they're-not-human-and-the-best-thing-to-do-for-them-is-to-kill-them" speech, and she got a bit better after that. Actually, after killing a couple more ghouls, she went beast-mode. I was pleasantly surprised, because this meant she was improving and would probably stop whining sometime soon. Of course, somehow her aim seemed to deteriorate the longer she was in beast-mode, which I don't really understand. Aren't your killing abilities supposed to get _better _when you go beasty? In any case, she somehow forgot that you're supposed to hit ghouls in the head or the heart when you shoot them, so I had to finish a couple of them off for her. I hope she doesn't expect me to keep on picking up her messes for her. I'm not her mother! If she keeps this up, she might expect me to start following her around with a pooper-scooper or something.

Well, there was one particular ghoul crawling around on the floor that she seemed to have her beastly eye on. I thought she was gonna shoot it, but instead she just put her boot on its head and crushed its skull to a bloody pulp. Not a bad method; a little crude, I'll admit, but not bad for a beginner. Of course, this action got blood and gunk all over her, so the Police Girl stuck out her tongue to lick the blood off her hand. I don't know why; ghouls are gross, lowly husks of dead civilians. What self-respecting vampire would ever want to drink ghoul blood? I don't even know what happens when you do that, and I don't really want to find out. I'd hate to end up absorbing the life of a ghoul. That would be like asking a random homeless bum on the street to become an integral part of your consciousness.

However, before the Police Girl could take a lick of the disgusting zombie sludge, a bayonet embedded itself in her neck, seemingly from out of nowhere. A moment later, about a dozen followed, sticking the Police Girl like a pin cushion. She fell face-down onto the floor, and I noticed that the bayonets were blessed blades. _Now what the heck - ?_ I thought, but my train of thought derailed before it could reach the station as a bunch of glowing papers fluttered from out of nowhere and stuck themselves to the walls. "A Barrier..?" I muttered. Only vampire hunters use Barriers. That's when I heard it; the sound of footsteps creepily descending a staircase at the end of the hall, accompanied by a strange dripping noise. _What, did this guy forget to turn off the faucet or something?_ I thought to myself. _That is __way__ too loud to be blood dripping off his weapon or anything like that_. But as the mysterious man rounded the corner, I realized that was exactly what it was (go figure). The vampire hunter was really tall for a human, and he had short, spiky blond hair, green eyes, glasses, a scar on his left cheek, and facial hair. I don't wanna call it a beard, because it wasn't really long enough for that, but it wasn't a moustache either. I think I'll just say he was prickly.

Anyway, this guy was carrying two bloody bayonets like swords, and he was dressed in a long trench-coat and a black shirt. He had a cross around his neck and wore a clerical collar, so I realized that he was probably from Iscariot, the Vatican's special exorcist organization. _Oh, great,_ I thought. _Another crazy with a collar who thinks Catholicism is the pinnacle of human achievement_. I'd had dealings with these guys before, and I killed all of them, but not before they annoyed the crap out of me. This one promised to be even more irksome than the others; after all, he'd probably just dispatched my fledgling. And I couldn't leave until he was dead, thanks to his Barrier. So I fumed in silent annoyance while he recited his spiel about being the "instruments of God" or whatever. I don't see why these Iscariot agents always have to read me the book on their divine purpose. Maybe it's for the same reason that I talk to my victims before I kill them, but I myself really don't scare that easily. The only reason I can see for always getting this speech from Iscariots is that they all seriously underestimate me. Note to self: work on getting an even scarier reputation (if that's possible). Then again, maybe these priests are all just good old-fashioned stupid. I've heard celibacy does things to men... I wouldn't be surprised if these wackos have some sort of mental trauma issues or something.

Well, the priest finished his speech and started walking slowly towards me, like some bad Western movie or something. "Beautiful moon tonight, doncha think?" he asked in what would have been a pleasant tone were it not for the creepy grin that accompanied it. I didn't answer; people who make small talk with vampires are usually a bit harder to kill than regular civilians. Besides, I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I would start laughing embarrassingly. This Iscariot agent had the strongest Scottish burr I had ever encountered in my unlife (of course, I've only met about three Scottish people, so that's not saying much). Still, for some reason Scottish accents always make me want to sit there and giggle until I roll on the floor and die. But the Police Girl was apparently still alive (?), and it would totally ruin my image if I giggled like a school girl in front of her. So I held back the temptation to laugh and decided to join in the high-noon-type face-off the priest had started.

We walked towards each other really slowly, and just kind of chit-chatted (ominously, of course!). Apparently he'd already killed the vampire we were hunting, which I had to admit was a big time-saver for me. I didn't tell him that, though. Eventually we wound up walking slightly past each other, and the priest was now talking to my shoulder blades.

Priest: "It seems you two are the only ones left..."

Me: "Really." _No duh, you retard._

I waited a second or two, then turned around abruptly and leveled my pistol at his head. However, the priest must have somehow anticipated my move, because I suddenly felt two sharp pains in my chest. My first instinct was to immediately pull the trigger, which I did with gusto. I hit the priest squarely in the forehead, and he flew back against the wall and was still. He's not only merely dead, he's really most sincerely dead (Okay, so I watch The Wizard of Oz a lot). I turned my attention back to the Police Girl, who was still on the floor, and pulled the blessed blades out of my chest. I was mad; that bugger almost got my heart. See, the reason most vampire hunters can't even come close to destroying me is that they always miss my heart. Believe it or not, I was human at one point, and I was born, like every other human on this earth. But there was something wrong with me right from the beginning; my heart somehow formed three centimeters to the right of where it's supposed to be. So whenever somebody tries to put a stake through my heart, it always ends up three centimeters to the left. That's why I was surprised that this guy managed to get closer than anybody ever did to where my heart actually was. There's no way he could possibly know about that; I haven't ever told anybody, not even my Master.

Anyway, I discarded the bayonets and turned to the Police Girl, who was trying to say something. I told her not to talk, and was about to instruct her in the fine art of removing pointy objects from one's undead body when I sensed something coming up behind me. I could practically hear the soundtrack from "Jaws"; what I actually heard, however, was a crazed cackling laugh and the sound of metal gliding against metal. Before I even had time to turn around, I felt two sharp pains in my back and saw the tips of silver bayonets extending from my chest. "What?" I rasped. _I could have sworn that man was dead!_

Well, he obviously wasn't anymore. Somehow, the Iscariot agent had managed to survive a point-blank gunshot wound to the forehead, even though I could sense that he was human. That fact baffled me at first. A human regenerator? It didn't seem possible. However, it was apparently very possible, as this human was now twisting the bayonets in my back and cackling like a maniac. Once I regained my composure, I summoned a burst of energy and pushed myself away from the priest and out of the reach of his blades. Just to make sure what had happened wasn't just a fluke, I shot him three more times, and he once again flew back against the wall. I waited a couple of seconds, pistol cocked and ready for another possible confrontation. Time seemed to stand still, and it looked like he was really dead this time. However, eventually the priest rose once again to his feet, and I found myself thinking I had seriously underestimated my opponent.

I'm afraid I've run out of time to write, and I'm starting to get a headache. This is a pretty long entry, so I think I'll just pick up where I left off tomorrow. In the famous words of Kouta Hirano: "Extra space is a waste, so I will sing a song."

_Have you ever seen a llama? Kissed a llama? On the llama? Llama's llama, tastes of llama, llama, llama, duck!_

_Half the llama, twice the llama, not a llama, farmer llama, llama in a car, alarma-llama, llama, duck!_

_I was once a tree-house, I lived in a cake,_

_But I never saw the way, the orange slayed the rake._

_I was only three days dead, but it told a tale,_

_And now listen little child, to the safety rail! _


	4. Judas Priest Continued

Monday

Ugh... Mondays... I hated Mondays before it was cool to hate them.

So, I just re-read my last entry... I have no idea what I was thinking, putting that stupid llama song in there. I'm going to get a giant bottle of white-out and completely blot it from both these pages and my memory. Is that what I want future generations of vampires to remember me for? It's absolutely absurd. I don't think "slayed" is even a word...

Good God, I sound... _mature_. Eeeeew. You know what, screw that. I'm leaving the llama song right where it is.

Anyway, I guess I have to finish the account of what happened Sunday night. Where was I? Oh yeah; "I found myself thinking I had seriously underestimated my opponent." Speaking of my opponent, I'd figured out his name by reading his thoughts, and it made me laugh. Apparently I was fighting an Alexander Anderson, who happens to share his name with the creator of Rocky the Flying Squirrel and Bullwinkle. No lie! You can look it up, if you want.

Well, there I was, stuck in Badrick with a crazed Catholic regenerator named after a cartoonist. As soon as he was back on his feet, Anderson rushed at me, bayonets in hand. He was actually pretty fast. Not bad... for a human. I was actually glad that he was such a good fighter; it had been a long time since I'd had a truly magnificent battle. Over a hundred years, actually. And although this didn't promise to be nearly as epic as that long-ago night, I had the feeling that Alexander Anderson was going to give me a fight that I'd thoroughly enjoy. Of course, at some point I'd have to remind him who was the more powerful here and give his regenerative hide a proper whooping, but secretly I hoped that he'd drag this fight on for as long as possible.

He lunged at me, I shot at him, and we battled like that for a while. I shot at his head, and he put his arms up in front of his face to absorb the blow. I snorted. "You wimp. If you wanted to protect your face, you should've worn a hockey mask, Bullwinkle." Trash-talking is just part of my fighting technique, and I can be quite good at it sometimes. I was a little off my game that night, though. I just couldn't get over the whole Rocky and Bullwinkle thing.

Anderson suddenly dropped his hands to his sides, palms open and facing me. Bayonets flew into his outstretched hands from inside his sleeves, and he immediately sent each and every one of them hurtling across the hallway straight for me in one over-exaggerated gesture. Somehow they blew out every window in the expansive hallway, although I don't think they even so much as touched the glass. I was excited; this would be a great opportunity for some quick-reflexes target practice. So I pumped the trigger as fast and as many times as I could, and somehow I managed to hit all the bayonets before they got anywhere near me.

Once I'd eliminated the flying projectiles, I finally realized how impossible what had just happened was. The bayonets had come out of his _sleeves_. Shouldn't I have been able to see them? I mean, how do you fit that many long, awkward, pointy objects up your sleeve without having any of them poke out of the fabric? And why did the windows explode? The bayonets didn't go anywhere near them. Now that I think about it, when Anderson first attacked the Police Girl, he was still on the staircase. Now, there's no problem with that, except that this particular staircase happened to be around the corner, and was impossible to see from where we were standing. So did he throw his bayonets around the corner of the wall somehow?

Well, while I was pondering these fundamental questions of life inside an anime, Anderson lunged while I was distracted, bayonets in hand.

"Eat haggis, Mr. Peabody!" he shouted, and slammed into me. He had the velocity of a 300-pound man being launched into space (if you don't know the formula, start watching Bill Nye the Science Guy and figure it out). I (literally) flew into the back wall before I really even knew what hit me, and I suddenly found my hands pinned to the wall behind me by two unyielding bayonets. _Dang it,_ I thought to myself. _He's going to cut my head off. How much do you want to bet he's going to cut my head off?_ Being headless isn't exactly my idea of a good time. Mother always told me I'd lose my head if it wasn't connected to my shoulders, and sure enough, that prediction's held pretty true over my long unlife. Every time I try to resurrect myself, I seem to have trouble finding my head. That's because people always take it and stick it on their battlements or something. Like Macbeth.

Anderson grabbed two more handfuls of bayonets from nowhere, and hurled them all at my torso, just for good measure. By that point, I must have looked like I'd had a bad encounter with a porcupine, and I felt like it, too. Porcupines are pure evil, make no mistake about that. The priest then pulled out two more bayonets and prepared to deal the death blow.

"Oh, an' by the way," he said. "Ah'm not Bullwinkle. Ah'm Rocky the Flyin' Squirrel." And with that, he swung his bayonet, and everything went black.

Have you ever had a near-death experience, or even heard about one? Then you know about how weird some of them can be. Well, death experiences are even weirder. They're sort of like dreams, but the random bits of your subconscious are actually happening in some non-existent pocket of time-space. Don't get this confused with Heaven or Hell; death experiences only happen for Nosferatu like me who've gotten their heads cut off and are waiting to resurrect themselves. I've had a couple of these in my unlife, and let me tell you, they're worse than crack dreams. One time I accidentally took a bunch of roofies and PCP, and that sort of came close, but not really. No hallucinogen can conjure the kind of stuff that happens in this nether world of deathly life and impossible existence.

I opened my eyes, and found myself floating in Jell-O dyed green, blue, and some other color that I can't identify. Whatever color it was, it probably doesn't exist. Well, I looked down at myself and noticed that I was wearing Princess Lea's slave outfit from whatever Star Wars movie that was. I quickly looked around for something to distract me from the disturbing image, but there was nothing but Jell-O, extending forever in all directions. Suddenly, my legs sort of squashed together, and I became some kind of a merman with blood-red scales. For some unknown reason, I was wearing the Sorting Hat, and it just kept saying "Hufflepuff!" over and over. I started to hear this creepy, ambient, sixties-type music, like the kind you'd hear in a National Geographic film about the ocean, and I think I saw a floating cow out of the corner of my eye. I also think it had six eyes.

Well, I swam through the Jell-O, but I didn't seem to be going anywhere. Suddenly, a younger version of Walter floated into my vision and waved at me.

"Hullo, old chap!" he said, in a suddenly ridiculously strong British accent. "I say, the UV index is wonderful high today, doncha know?"

"Hufflepuff!"

"What the heck are you talking about, Walter?" I asked. "And why are you in my death experience?"

Walter ignored my question and babbled on and on about virtually nothing. "Well, I had a jolly old bit of scoff this morning, wot wot, and pinball is certainly a capital sport. Have you ever thrown a fish against the wall, you know, just for the Halibut? Oh-ho-ho!"

"Hufflepuff!"

It was absolutely ridiculous. I don't know how I retained my sanity. Thankfully, I could see that, back in the real world, my body had gotten to the melted phase. The Police Girl had somehow managed to pull all of the bayonets out of herself, which was actually rather skillful of her. I told her to drink my blood, so she could be her own Master and I wouldn't have to watch Twilight with her. I even used her real name (gasp!). But for some reason, she wouldn't drink the blood. _Oh come on,_ I thought. _You've got to be kidding me!_ When she still didn't drink after a couple of minutes, I decided that I wanted to escape my crack-dream death experience as soon as possible, even if I would end up having to watch Twilight. I focused on returning to the real (sane) world, and soon enough, I found myself back in Badrick.

Of course, the minute I materialized, Anderson tried to bayonet me again, but I think he realized that wasn't going to do anything. At some point, my Master had arrived on the scene, but I wondered why she didn't have any bodyguards. She certainly had guts, coming here all alone. Either that, or Anderson killed her guards. That would certainly be feasible.

Anyway, Sir Integra asked Anderson what he was going to do now, in that tone that says she's got you with your hands tied. I pride myself on being able to read my Master's expressions of cruelty fairly well, as there are quite a few of them. Of course, she and I are two totally different types of mean: she's more of the mostly-good-intentioned-but-incredibly-arrogant-cold-and-stubborn type, while I am more of the crazed-psychopathic-pure-evil-but-incredibly-sexy variety (if I do say so myself, and I do). In any case, her words apparently struck home with the rather humiliated Judas Priest. He opened his Bible and flipped randomly through the pages. All of a sudden, the barriers unstuck themselves from the walls and were swept into a cyclone of flying, glowing paper surrounding Anderson. They swirled around him until he was no longer visible, then shot out the window and were gone.

The Police Girl was apparently extremely relieved that Anderson was gone, and she sort of flopped to her knees. I walked across the hallway until I stood beside her.

Me: Why didn't you drink the blood, Police Girl?

Police Girl: Well, I thought that if I drank it... (mushy tone and puppy eyes) ...I'd lose something important. *Sniffle*. And, Master, my name's not Police Girl. It's Seras Victoria.

Me (not amused): You loser. Your real name is too weird, and it reminds me too much of a bra store. You're Police Girl, and that's final.

Police Girl (whining): Waah, you're so mean!

Me: Oh, shut it. You're just like an annoying freshman in High School. Leave the seniors alone for ten minutes.

I walked away and stood beside my Master.

"Why on Earth did you turn her into a vampire?" she asked.

I gulped and scrambled for an answer. I had to have a legitimate reason, but there was no way I was going to reveal what had been actually going through my mind that night (see Chapter 1). "I... don't know," I said hurriedly. "For sport? No, that's not it. Maybe it was a, umm... a whim. Yes, maybe it was a whim. But that doesn't sound like me; I must be spending too much time around you humans. I might be developing a sense of whimsy."

I got out of there as fast as I could; that was not a very good explanation, and I was almost certain my Master would see through it and press me for the real reason. Sure enough, as I walked away I heard her mumble, "An odd thing for a King of Vampires to say. Or a Count..."

Thankfully, she did not specifically order me to explain any further, so I'm hoping that I am off the hook. And that is the end of Sunday night's adventures in Badrick. Unfortunately, I did not manage to get out of watching Twilight with the Police Girl, and I must say that I have been mentally, emotionally, and possibly physically scarred. I won't go into the horrible details, because it still pains me to think of the utter stupidity and idiocy that surrounds that film. It... it's like... _politics_... *shudder*.

I have decided to end this continuation of Sunday's entry with yet another stupid song. This one I learned from the Police Girl, and she says that it's about me, and Anderson is the bear. It's called, "A Bear in Tennis Shoes". It's even more stupid than the llama song (is that possible?).

One day as I,

_(One day as I)_

Walked through the woods,

_(Walked through the woods)_

I met a bear,

_(I met a bear)_

In tennis shoes.

_(In tennis shoes)_

One day as I walked through the woods, I met a bear in tennis shoes, I met a bear,

_(I met a bear)_

In tennis shoes.

_(In tennis shoes)_

He looked at me,

_(He looked at me)_

I looked at him.

_(I looked at him)_

He smiled at me,

_(He smiled at me)_

I smiled at him.

_(I smiled at him)_

He looked at me, I looked at him, he smiled at me, I smiled at him, he looked at me,

_(He looked at me)_

I looked at him.

_(I looked at him)_

He said to me,

_(I'm done writing all these repeats. You know where they are now, anyway)_

Why don't you run?

I see you ain't,

Got any gun.

He said to me, Why don't you run, I see you ain't got any gun. He said to me,

Why don't you run?

And so I ran,

Away from there.

But right behind,

Me came that bear!

And so I ran away from there, but right behind me came that bear, and so I ran,

Away from there.

And as I ran,

I saw a tree.

A great big tree,

Oh, Glory Be!

And as I ran, I saw a tree, a great big tree, oh Glory Be! A great big tree,

Oh, Glory Be!

The nearest branch,

Was twenty feet up.

To get up there,

I'd have to jump.

The nearest branch was twenty feet up, to get up there I'd have to jump. To get up there,

I'd have to jump.

And so I jumped,

Into the air.

But I missed that branch,

Oh way up there.

And so I jumped into the air, but I missed that branch oh way up there, but I missed that branch.

Oh way up there.

Now don't you fret,

And don't you frown.

'Cause I caught that branch,

On the way back down!

Now don't you fret and don't you frown, 'cause I caught that branch on the way back down, 'cause I caught that branch.

On the way back down.

The moral of,

The story is,

Don't talk to bears,

In tennis shoes.

The moral of the story is, don't talk to bears in tennis shoes, don't talk to bears.

In tennis shoes.


	5. Fox in Socks and a Tea Party

_Disclaimer: Ah dinnae own Hellsing._

**Tuesday**

Dearest Darling-est Diary,

Today was the most fantabulous day ever! I had a tea party with Seras Victoria, during which I wore a frilly pink dress and a bonnet. Also invited were Tigger, Dressy Bessie, and Snookums, the stuffed cat I've had since I was five. I wanted to invite my imaginary friend Scotty T. T.*, but sadly, he was otherwise engaged. We each had a cup of decaf Earl Grey, and Seras was kind enough to get out that lovely pink flower-print china that I've so had my eye on.

After that, I decided that I had been far too harsh on Anderson the other night, so I traveled to Rome and apologized. I was so overcome with grief at my own rude and uncouth behaviour that I threw myself at his feet and begged for mercy with tears streaming down my pitiful face. Father Anderson, in his most kind and forgiving spirit, spared me my wretched existence. I am overcome with gratitude, and I shall sing his praises as I wallow in the heathen mud that is my unlife.

I also realized the error of my ways in lying to my Master about my brutish desire to take poor Seras Victoria's virginity. So, I have written a formal letter of apology to both of them, conveying that I deserve to be punished in the most horrible ways imaginable for my stupidity. I have also locked the keys to my coffin inside of my coffin, so that I will not be able to sleep for at least a week.

After ensuring that I would get what I most rightfully deserved for my previous actions, I decided to post all of the embarrassing details of my death experience on Section XIII's website for the enjoyment of the Iscariots. I have not edited or left out a single detail, so that the Vatican may see that I have been thorough in my descriptions. I also gave them permission to send said descriptions to whomsoever they choose over Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc.

Now I will sing a song because I am a gay, retarded, singing heathen.

_Ye banks an' braes 'o' Bonnie Doon,_

_How can ye bloom sae fresh an' fair?_

_How can ye chant, ye little birds,_

_And I so weary, full of care?_

_Aye, Scotland, I do remember,_

_Aye, Scotland of courage an' pride!_

_Aye, Scotland, the bonnie have bled for you,_

_Thistle and rose, side by side..._

**(The **_**Real **_**Entry for)**** Tuesday**

Oh God, Anderson found my dia- _autobiography_! That evil son of a preacher! He and some Iscariots had to stay here while Sir Integra worked out some sort of non-violence treaty (which no one gives a crap about), and he must have gotten in my room somehow! That miserable little hobgoblin! I may be a gay, retarded heathen, but how dare he assume that I would ever, EVER drink Earl Grey? Decaf, no less! I swear, next time I am really going to kill him. I will blow his head off with a dozen hand-grenades, and then I will take his bayonets and chop him into microscopic pieces, which I will then torch with a flame-thrower. After that has been done, I will clear the area within a fifty-kilometer radius and drop a nuclear bomb on the ashes. That man needs to die!

Okay, calming myself down. Let me see, what was I going to write about..? Umm... oh yeah, I think Hellsing Manor got attacked. Yeah, that was it. I'm pretty sure we were attacked by a huge army of ghouls during the Round Table conference yesterday. I don't know, I didn't really think it was all that important, but Sir Integra was kind of wigging out, so I pretended to be concerned. If the situation was really all that dangerous, why did she make me wait in the basement for one vampire instead of just letting me wipe all of them out? But I digress.

Anyway, these two freaks by the names of Luke and Jan Valentine somehow managed to drive a tour bus full of ghouls right up to Hellsing's gates without any opposition. It is my opinion that our security is getting a little lax around here; after all, there were only two guards at the gate, and incompetent ones, for that matter. They couldn't even get in a single shot at the freaks, nor did either of them think to radio for help. They just stood there and let the undead brainless zombies mow them down like crab grass. Retards. We must have been really low on our recruiting quota for the month when we hired those nitwits.

Jan and Luke were supposedly brothers. I really don't see how that could be the case, and this is why:

Jan is black, and Luke is white.

Jan has an American accent, and Luke has a British accent.

Jan has a #%!in' foul mouth, and Luke is the definition of refinement, grace, and civilized behaviour.

Luke didn't taste like he was related to Jan.

I know, that last one's kind of odd, but don't worry, I'll get there eventually. I hope you get my point, though. I was never good at compare-and-contrast.

In any case, Jan apparently wreaked havoc upstairs, while Luke came down to the basement alone. I suppose he assumed that ghouls would be useless against me, which was quite correct. I actually get rather offended when freaks think they can kill me with a bunch of ghouls. Wouldn't you? Imagine if some hobo on the corner of Fifth Avenue said he was going to kill you with nothing but a bag of Fluffy Puff Marshmallows (which is a fictional brand-name, by the way). Wouldn't you be offended?

So, Luke Luck made it down to the basement all by hwimswelf (and no, that is not a type-o). He totally bombed my door, which I'd say was rather disrespectful and rude of him. Didn't they teach him any manners at that Millennium finishing school? And to top things off, he apparently couldn't find me, so started calling my name like some childish game of hide-and-seek. Then, he said that I was hiding from him! Can you believe it? Me, hiding from a little rat like him! As if he hadn't already offended me enough by destroying my door. It took me two months to put it back together after that whole Incognito fiasco, and I'd just finished it three days ago. Well, I was incredibly angry. I was so ticked off, in fact, that the next thing that came out of my mouth was something I will regret for a very long time. When I'm angry, sometimes my words get mixed around and thrown out of order. I'll be thinking one thing, and end up saying something totally different. This, of course, is very embarrassing, and that particular comment killed any sort of dignity I had left by that point. It ate it, chewed it up, and spat it out in a pile of vomit and shame.

Luke: Come out, Alucard. I know you're hiding around here somewhere...

Me: Do not mistake my cowardice for patience.

(Awkward silence)

Luke: Umm, okay...

Me: Oh, guano! I mean, don't mistake my patience for cowardice! DON'T MISTAKE MY PATIENCE FOR COWARDICE! You knew what I meant, right? Please tell me you knew what I meant!

So, yeah. I'll never live it down. After that, he decided we should have some kind of battle or something, which I was okay with. I was in the mood for some high-flying trigger-happy acrobatics anyway. Of course, he made me spill my glass of wine onto the carpet, which made me even more annoyed with him. Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean red wine stains out of a 500-some year-old Romanian carpet? Stanley Sweeper would rather stab themselves repeatedly with a kitchen knife. Besides, that was good Merlot.

Well, it turned out that Luke actually had some pretty good stuff up his sleeve. I couldn't hit him for the unlife of me, even though I must have fired my gun enough times to fill the Sphinx with empty shells. I was ecstatic! Finally, someone who would actually pose a challenge! I was so happy that I was finally fighting a real vampire! So, I let loose and released Baskerville. Baskerville hasn't had a good playmate in at least three hundred years, so he was pretty excited that this guy might summon some familiars for him to play with. His tail was wagging with enough force to chop down a redwood, so I figured I'd let him try that new trick I taught him. He bit my arm off, and fired the Jackal at Luke while holding it in his teeth. Obedience school ain't got nothin' on me; it was killer hard to teach him that, though. I wasted a _lot_ of blood and Scooby Snacks on that one.

Eventually, Luke ended up sitting leg-less at the bottom of the stairs. But he didn't summon anything! Not even an imp! Well, by that point Mr. Valentine had officially annoyed the guano out of me, and Baskerville was pretty upset, too. So, I let Baskerville eat him. If you were wondering how I knew what Luke tasted like, now you know. Of course, letting Baskerville eat him was probably not incredibly wise, because my hellhound's had a brutal case of the runs for the last twenty-four hours. And Sir Integra is forcing me to clean up all of it. My life is crap.

So, apparently we lost, like, every single human soldier in the attack. They had a big funeral and all that, and I'm expecting that they'll have to hire some new idiots. I just hope the new people at least know how to shoot for the heart. Or tie their own shoelaces.

_Luke Luck licks lakes._

_Luke's duck licks lakes._

_Luke Luck's duck licks lakes._

_Luke Luck lost legs._

***Author's Note: Scotty T. T. is Strong Sad's imaginary friend from Homestar Runner. He is a shapeless lump who always wins at Time Magazine: The Game. Y'all just lost The Game. Burn.**


	6. Little Italy

_Persone: Non possiedo Hellsing. Con fuego! _

Wednesday

Well, today I got to meet the "new people". Apparently, Walter's lowered himself to hiring mercenaries. Bleh.

They call themselves The Wild Geese, which strikes me as a pretty retarded name for a group of mercenaries. They're like a rinky-dinky high school in the middle of Kansas that couldn't think of a better mascot than "Corn" or something. They could've at least chosen something fierce, like a tiger or a lion. I still would have made fun of them, but at least they could have taken satisfaction in knowing that they'd picked a relatively scary animal. Now, if they were The Wallachians, that would be a different story. I'd have to find out if they were worthy of the name, though.

Anyway, their leader's name is Captain Pip Vernadead, and he is obviously, obnoxiously, sickeningly French (Bon Jour!). Walter tried to keep me from going to meet them, but I was curious, so I phased into the room through the wall. I was kind of lazy that day, so I didn't really feel like phasing all the way through it all at once. I was just kinda chillin' half in and half out of the drywall, which apparently freaked the Wild Geese out a little. You know, the first word I said to them was "damn". I guess I just like making awkward first impressions.

Well, when I got there, it seemed like Mr. Vernadead had taken a bit of a beating from my fledgling, and for once, I was actually pleased with her. This Pip person had offended vampire kind, so she gave him what he deserved without stressing herself. Dat's right. You mess wid mah home girl, I'ma bust a cap in yo head, fool!

Sir Integra says I should stop trying to be a white boy gangsta. Looking back on that last sentence, she's probably right. Still, Mr. T always was my favorite character on The A Team (I pity the fool!). Sir Integra reminds me of Hannibal, Walter is Face, and... Police Girl would make a wonderful H.M. Murdock.

So, yeah, moving on. Walter arrived too late to stop me from making the Wild Geese drop number twos into their whitey-tighties (as if he could), but he decided to make it up to Sir Integra by handing her a random letter. Well, okay, so it wasn't _completely_ random; the letter came from Enrico Maxwell, head of the Iscariot Organization. Apparently this guy is the current head honcho in charge of the hordes of Catholic Philly Phanatics I keep running into. Well, he wants to meet with my Master in some museum or something, to talk about whatever. I don't really care what he wants; I just want to tell him to stop sending these stooges out after me. Random tangent, but one time I seriously got attacked by a guy who dressed up like a clown. He had this nasty scar around his mouth, and he called himself the Joker or something. He looked like a rabble-rouser, so I killed him. Of course, after that some guy in a bat costume started harping on me about not killing people and human rights, so I killed him too. Later I found out he was supposed to be some sort of super hero, but he was annoying me. I regret nothing.

Anyway, Sir Integra agreed to meet with this Maxwell guy. She let me come along, which made me happy, and not because I wanted to see the art. If my Master thought I needed to be there, either this Maxwell person actually might pose a physical threat to her wellbeing, or else Anderson would be there as well. I seriously doubted the former, but I try not to underestimate people. I make absolutely sure I know they're losers before I make fun of them. I was actually rather looking forward to this museum trip because it heralded the possibility of an epic battle with the Judas Priest. Technically, all the Iscariots are Judas Priests, but Alexander Anderson gets the nickname because he holds a special place on my hate list for reading my dia- autobiography. Definitely not Number One or Two (those are reserved for Edward Cullen and Justin Bieber), but it's no small feat that he comes in at a close fourth. I've hated a whole lot of people in my unlife, so I think he deserves a little applause. *Clap* *Clap* *Clap*.

"_Ah'd like tae thank the Academy..."_

I think I should host the Emmys. Does anybody else think I should host the Emmys? Because I think I would do a fantastic job.

As if that wasn't random at all... my Master and Maxwell just kind of stood in the hallway talking for a bit. I was watching through the wall; Rico is _muy Italiano_ (I think I just threw some Spanish in there), so he has this ridiculous accent and he talks with his hands. One year, Arthur Hellsing was really drunk, so he made me get piano lessons for some party he was going to throw. Of course, I had to learn all about music theory and all that crap. I still can't see why these dead composers had to stick a little seven behind all their five chords, and I don't remember what that does. Or what a five chord even is, for that matter. Anyway, for some reason all the instructions telling you how to play the piece are written in Italian. So I had to learn things like _Maestoso, poco a poco,_ and _D.C. al Coda_. Of course, Police Girl now thinks that because of this, I can speak Italian. She says that I should "call Maxwell something mean", but there's not really any possibility of me being able to do that. Unless I tell him he's a _ritardando_ and he should _decrescendo_ or something.

Anyway, Maxwell started randomly wigging out, and let me tell you, it was one of the most amusing things I've ever seen. He leaned forward and stuck his neck out like a turtle, his lips were drawn back while he talked so he looked like Mr. Ed, and his eyes... I could write a book about his eyes right then. The right one suddenly got really close to closing, and the left one got all buggy and humungous. It was incredible; I felt like I was watching a cartoon, or some crazy anime or something.

Well, he appeared to be annoying my Master, so I phased in through the wall and gave him a talking to. In other words, I threatened to bust a cap in his head. I mean, he called my Master a sow! As if he couldn't come up with a better insult than that! I have this guy all figured out now. He's not calling her something dumb because he can't think of anything better, but because he's insinuating that she's not even worth the miniscule brain energy required to form an insulting insult! The nerve of him, being all sneaky like that! Well, actually now that I think about it, coming up with something long and complicated like that requires access to an intelligent brain. So, rather than inadvertently guarantee that Enrico Maxwell may, in fact, be a brilliant and cultured individual, I'll just say that he's stupid and couldn't think of a better insult than "sow".

So, I threatened to shoot him, and do you know what the idiot did? He just laughed and cracked his knuckles, and blabbered about turnabout being fair play or something. I happen to possess the two largest and heaviest pistols on the planet, and I can guarantee you one shot from the Jackal would have torn his head and most of his shoulders from his torso at that range. When someone puts a freakishly huge gun in your face and calls you a foolish little man, you don't laugh at them like they're a kindergartener with a water pistol! Rather, the correct reaction would be to scream like a girl and either run as fast as you can or curl up into a quivering fetal position. Or perhaps beg for the incredibly sexy vampire to spare your pitiful existence. On the "Surviving Alucard, Ivan the Terrible, Chuck Norris, and/or Other Such Awesome Personages" final exam, I give him a "Z". They do still grade papers with "Z"s, don't they?

Well, Maxwell snapped his fingers, and the sound echoed off the walls, rather freakishly loud. Then he stood up straight and got all epic (speed lines and everything!), and essentially, he yelled for Mommy. Except "Mommy" happens to be a six-foot-plus holy-roller yoder-toter vampire hunter with the skeletal structure of a mature grizzly bear. In a word, Anderson. He was all of a sudden standing at the end of the hallway (I can't believe no one noticed him before). In that moment, I must have felt something akin to what young lovers feel when they randomly bump into their significant other at the mall, shopping for shoes or Halo or whatever it is teenagers do. However, my version of this feeling was far more twisted and indicative of deep mental issues than that of fifteen-year-old Sally. I was positively giddy with excitement when I thought of the wonderful battle that was bound to ensue. In fact, I threw off my sunglasses, pulled out both of my guns, and my hat sort of just popped off my head and this purple smoke started rolling through the hallway. It was like we were being stalked by J.J. Abrams, ready and waiting to film an epic battle. I won't be surprised if this scene pops up in a future Star Trek movie with a bunch of artfully placed Tribbles and lens flares.

Anderson drew his bayonets, and I couldn't wait for the fight to begin. For some reason, Maxwell kept getting in the way. He actually told Anderson to stop! I should've shot him right then. If he was going to bring Anderson with him, he should have known that something incredibly violent would ensue. Anderson and I, we're like dogs and cats, Harry Potter and Voldemort, Starfleet Officers and Klingons, Sock-'Em-Bop-'Ems, even. Once you get us in the same general area, not expecting a fight is just plain old stupid. Besides, I didn't think Rico was really the peaceable type, anyway. Much to my excitement, Anderson pushed him away like he wasn't even there. I undid the safeties on my pistols, he drew back his bayonets to strike, and-

-Police Girl showed up with a horde of mindless Japanese tourists. She _had_ to lead them right through the middle of our face-off, smiling that obnoxious tour-guide smile and blowing on her whistle. I was about ready to scream. Instead, I just kept thinking, _No, no, no, no, NO! I have waited FAR too long for a good fight for her to just come and ruin it for me!_ It was then that I officially decided to cut off her ice cream supply for at least a week. That was one of the most disappointing things I have ever experienced; my fledgling will pay dearly for that, I can assure you. It was like watching the entire season of Britain's Got Talent, just to have your power go out right before they announced the winner. I would have thrown a world-class temper tantrum, had my Master not been standing right there. I guess it just goes to show that I'm fated never to receive any sort of pleasure. Oh, what a miserable, temporarily violence-free unlife I unlive. *Sniff*. After that, my Master and Maxwell went off to the café garden to talk, and I went home to my coffin, wallowing in misery and disappointed longing for my next battle with the Judas Priest. Oh, Bullwinkle, how I wish I could strangle, thrash, and mutilate thee. Parting is such sweet sorrow...

_I, Alucard, would now like to take this time to officially recognize those of you wonderful individuals who have taken the time out of your undoubtedly busy schedules to type words. In short, thanks for the reviews, oh my public. Just, please refrain from posting anything more about the so-called "cuteness" of this "diary", as it makes me deeply offended. _

_For those of you who have not reviewed this, I urge you to do so. Come on, I know you people are reading this. You can't hide from me! _

_Actually, I haven't gotten anything blatantly negative so far, which means that it's possible that along with being the sexiest man on the planet, I may also be a good writer. Oh, great, I probably just jinxed it. Now watch, the next review's probably going to say something like, "this sucks". Hey, Walter, how about a friendly wager..?_


	7. Mercenary Controversy

Verzichterklaerung: Ich besitze Hellsing nicht.

Thursday

Man, you people stink! Now I owe Walter £100 and two weeks of housekeeping. Was it too much to ask for just one negative comment? Just a little one? Well, thanks, you glass-half-full, eternal-sunshine-and-joy-ness hippies. I'll think of you when I'm feather-dusting the floorboards.

_(Publisher's Note: I, ProbableImpossibilities, have been completely accurate in the copying of this account. Any rudeness on the part of the undead author is apologized for in advance by myself, and your reviews truly are appreciated. I have told Alucard that if he decides to include any more reader-thrashing, I will do nasty things to him through the legal system. Please pardon the interruption, and thank you for your time.)_

So, now that I've officially vented my spleen on all of you, I think I'm going to start the actual entry now (gasp!). We all got back from the museum, and everyone was tired/disappointed in his or her own way. Sir Integra stomped up the stairs with all the might and rage of Godzilla, and slammed the door to her office so hard I swear I heard hinges snap. Judging from the contents of her trash can, she went through at least a pack of cigs per hour. I think Maxwell must have done something to deeply annoy and aggravate her _soul_. I haven't seen her like this since those leopard-print bane-of-blankets Snuggies invaded store shelves.

Walter got back and went straight to the kitchen, where he promptly sliced-and-diced so many carrots we'll all turn orange within the week. Police Girl went back to her room and started playing Billy Joel as loud as she possibly could; I think she even painted her nails. As for me, I just lay in my coffin and stared at the ceiling. The only thing I really miss about being able to go outside in the middle of the day is looking at the clouds and finding ones that look like animals and such. I mean, being stuck in a basement for a hundred years gets incredibly boring, and all I can look at is the stones on my ceiling. Let's see, that one looks like... a rock. Oh, and that one over there looks like... a rock. And that one in the corner, that really big one, that one looks like... a rock. Because it is a rock (fancy that). Just once, I want to be able to look up and see something like a camel, or a tree, or Brad and Angelina's hordes of children. Police Girl has this cloud screensaver on her computer, and sometimes I'll stare at that when she's not looking, but it isn't the same. Besides, there aren't ever any nimbus clouds. They're always those fluffy white cirrus clouds that look like torn-up cotton balls, and you can tell the thing's on a loop of ten seconds. Oh, that cloud that I've seen twenty times today looks like... a torn-up cotton ball.

Anyway, something Integra learned while talking to Maxwell has everyone in the pits. Walter pulled me aside last night to talk to me about it. For some reason he thinks I enjoy having these kinds of "chats" in front of a certain window in the Hellsing Manor (either that, or he himself is rather partial to that window). It's pretty big for a window, and there's a nice view of the moon, but I'd like a change of scenery for at least one of my debriefings, if you can really call them that. They're mostly just Walter explaining an upcoming mission in a rambling, roundabout sort of way, augmented by reminiscing and small talk. If one of these debriefings gets too tiresome, I just kind of nod off, and I usually wake up about ten minutes later inside the chimney or tied to the flagpole by one of Walter's wires. He doesn't like being ignored; one time I fell asleep and woke up without my boxers. It took me a week to find them, and Walter, of course, denied everything. So I had to bear the full brunt of my Master's wrath, which was made even more painful than usual by the fact that my boxers had been sitting in the top drawer of her desk.

Well, Walter summoned me to the window to talk to me about South America. I asked if the next mission had anything to do with Llamas with Hats. He said no. Although I was rather disappointed that I would not be getting to reenact the part of Carl, I perked up slightly when he told me we were going to be fighting the Nazis. The Nazis are disturbed, racist, and plain old weird, so I enjoy doing battle with them. They're certainly an interesting group of wackos, I'll give them that. When Walter and I destroyed their undead research program fifty years ago, I knew somehow that they'd never really go away. People who dedicate their lives to producing artificial monsters know a thing or two about stayin' alive. _Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk..._ Gotta love those BeeGees.

So, after I'd been sufficiently informed, my Master came into the room and gave me the standard "search and destroy" speech. I decided now would be a good time to show off my awesome hair, so I took off my hat and worked my magic. L'Oreal is incredibly jealous of me; I can do whatever I want with my hair. Absolutely anything. I can grow it, sculpt it, cut it, etc., all by simply wishing it to be so. This particular evening, I was in a bit of a classy mood, so I let it dangle, long, dark, and straight as a pin, about halfway down my back, where it tapered off with just a hint of a wave. Integra has long ceased to be surprised and/or disturbed by this sort of thing, so it's not quite as fun as it used to be, but Police Girl has been making a wonderful audience recently. She's asked to search me for a concealed straightening iron or shears, and I told her she'd have to be very, very thorough.

Anyway, I found out that I would be bringing Police Girl and Pippy Longstockings with me to Rio, which dampened my mood somewhat. Captain Vernadead seems to think he can steal my fledgling from me. Every time he's around her, he acts like a ridiculous, perverted moron. Of course, I don't know if it's only an act just yet, but the Frenchman is becoming incredibly annoying, and I don't want to spend the next few days with him and Police Girl badgering me. However, it's either him or five of his stupid mercenaries, and you know the old saying: two idiots are more annoying than one. Every time I hear about cloning or Dolly the sheep, I find myself thinking about what would happen if they were to clone Pip. If I think about it too much, I get daymares. _Annihilation, Jim. Total, complete, utter annihilation_.

Well, Sir Integra was kind enough to get us a private jet for the flight there, but I noticed that our tickets are not round-trip. And since we have no other tickets to speak of, I have absolutely no idea how we are going to get back. I, personally, could simply teleport back to England, but I can't take people (or coffins) with me. Of course, I wouldn't mind terribly if we left a certain French mercenary behind, but I get the feeling that my Master would be rather angry if I came back without him. Still, I think there's a bit of unfairness here; this Pip guy has been obviously intent on Police Girl's boobs since the moment he got here, and he gets to go scot-free, no punishment whatsoever. I am **emotionally scarred** by what my Master did to me when she found out I was looking at my fledgling's boobs! It was a traumatic experience that no amount of counseling will ever make me forget! And this guy just gets to do whatever? He's barely been here five minutes!

But I digress. Really, I should stop thrashing the guy; I don't know that much about him as of yet. But I was never one for considering other people's feelings. This Pip person is going to have to work very hard to prove that he is worthy of being on mildly friendly terms with me. Until then, I dare say he's barely tolerable. Police Girl seems to have taken a shine to him, though. My Master noticed that I noticed this, and she says I'm jealous. Me? _Jealous? _Get real. What reason would I have to be jealous? I mean, she's just my fledgling, her blood is of my blood... and we share a telepathic bond... and we effect each other's dreams... she belongs to me... But that's no reason to get jealous! Never mind that this total stranger is infringing upon the bond between fledgling and sire, one of the closest bonds there is, and not giving it a second thought. I'm not jealous! That's preposterous.

Okay, so maybe I am a little... _hesitant_... about this whole thing. But I think Sir Integra should quit mocking me about it.

So, we flew to Rio, and I had to sit right across from Captain Vernadead in first-class. In other words, I had to watch him read a newspaper for the entire flight. I wouldn't let him ruin my fun, though, so I ordered a bottle of Italian Red and cranked up the Clementi. However, it would appear that Monsieur Party-Pooper does not appreciate the finer arts of blasting classical music, so I reluctantly put an end to the sounds of Venice and sat there sipping my wine. After a couple of hours, we were in the airport at Rio. There was a nice, cushy limo waiting to take us to the hotel, but I believe the driver was incompetent or mentally retarded. We hydroplaned on some kid's spilled milkshake.

As if that wasn't bad enough, when we finally got to the hotel, the desk clerk said my luggage was too large. There was no way I was going to let this little insect ruin the mission, so I mesmerized him. I love doing that, by the way. It makes me feel like a Jedi (This is not the luggage you're looking for...). I would actually probably be more like a Sith, but the only sexy people in those movies are Jedi. Palpatine is just plain old gross, and Darth Vadar is far too campy. Besides, the Jedi get all the ladies...

Wow, that took up more space than I wanted it to. I didn't even really talk about anything yet. Oh well, I guess this is going to be another one of those "split entries". I'm going to run out of paper very soon if I keep this up. But wait... the more paper I use, the more trees I kill. Hmm, this is beginning to sound interesting. The Autotroph Massacre! Ha ha, I like the sound of that! Die, primary producers, die! Take that, you tree huggers! I'm killing the future! HAHAHAHAHAHA!


	8. Por Que?

Friday

TCNIF. Thank Chuck Norris It's Friday.

Well, I suppose I have to pick up where I left off yesterday. Looking back, I didn't really even talk about anything at all during that last entry. I just kind of blabbered on and on about random stuff. Well, in retrospect, I did make it to the hotel. That's pretty good, I guess. But still. This is the reason I was never on the cross-country team.

"_Oh yeah, I'm going to run twenty-five miles today... ooh, a porcupine! Let's follow it into that ditch!"_

Needless to say, rabbit trails usually end badly for me. But anyway, I mesmerized the hotel clerk and went up to my room. Sir Integra finally got me the penthouse for once (score!), so I waited for Pip to go away and immediately broke into the mini-bar. In two hours I had four shots of vodka, five glasses of Merlot, and a bottle of something yellow. I don't even remember what it was; might've been hard lemonade or something. In any case, I got a bit carried away... even with my vampiric tolerance to alcohol, I was pretty smashed. So, after that things got a little blurry. I must have ordered room service, because later on when I'd regained my faculties I noticed there was caviar lying around in random places. I also think I left the hotel at one point, even though it was the middle of the day and I didn't have my Fedora with me. I have a sneaking suspicion that I ended up somewhere where even more alcohol was readily available, but all I really remember with any clarity is a smoky room, techno music, and a Mexican woman in a halter top.

Actually, I made all that up. I had you fooled!

Really, (and I am a little ashamed of this), I had jet lag. So, I just kind of flopped into my coffin and made up for lost sleep. I did break into the mini-bar, though (heh heh heh...).

Well, I slept for six hours, and woke up some time around eleven-thirty at night. That's when I noticed that there was a helicopter hovering almost right next to the window. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I hopped up, ran over to the window, and screamed: "To h*** with you people! I told you already, slave labor does not require the completion of a W2 form! Get off my back already, and if you mail me one more sepina I will personally gut your throat!"

However, upon further investigation I realized that the helicopter did not belong to the IRS and was, in fact, some sort of military vehicle. Fears of creeping tax men assuaged, I sauntered back over to my coffin and got out a couple of crackers and some Smuckers raspberry jelly. It was only after I'd nibbled my way through thirty or so sardines that I realized I should probably wake the Police Girl up. I'd forgotten all about her since Pip had finally managed to get her into her coffin; I searched her thoughts, and realized she seemed to be having a very strange dream. She was talking to the spirit of her Harkonnen or something, and it was border-lining death-experience-weird (which is pretty weird, but we've been over this). _Well, that should tell me something about her subconscious, _I thought. _Now, should I be nice and just give her a little shake on the shoulder, or should I be mean and throw the coffin across the room? _

I settled on a compromise. I threw the coffin across the room, and then I opened it up and gave her a little pat on the shoulder.

Me: Wake up.

Police Girl: Oh... good morning.

Me: It's 'good evening', you twit. By the way, there's a helicopter or something over there. Don't worry, though, it's not the IRS.

Police Girl: **WHAT?**

She scrambled out of her coffin and ran to get a closer look. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," I called after her. "They might be paparazzi." Time magazine's been trying to get a photo of me for months. They want to feature me in some article called "Sexiest Man Alive" or something. I told them I'm already dead and showed them the door, but they won't leave me alone. Frankly, it's become rather tiresome.

_(Publisher's Note: As most of you probably already know, Alucard is the most egotistical being there ever was. That and only that is the sole reason these random "sexy" references keep popping up. I was actually thinking of deleting them from this account, seeing as I do not see how Alucard is handsome in any way, but doing so would subtract from the accuracy of these writings. P.S.: Alexander Anderson 4eva!)_

_Papa – paparazzi..._ Does anybody else notice how much Lady Gaga stutters? _P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face._ P-p-p-Porky Pig, more like it.

Anyhoo, since this helicopter was stalking our apartment, it seemed pretty obvious that the Mexicans weren't happy. About what, I wasn't sure, but I'm always up for violence. In fact, I (un)live for violence. Me + Battle = Fat Kid in Twinkie Heaven. So don't make fun of me for being incredibly confused when the Police Girl started panicking. At first I thought it was just a case of her normal annoying girly-ness, but then I heard this:

Police Girl _(hyperventilating)_: Oh god, they're coming for me! They must have dug up the body! _(To the helicopter)_ I swear, I didn't know it was illegal in Mexico! I didn't know! I DON'T KNOW WHO KILLED EDUARDO VALASQUEZ!

Me: ...urm... I really don't know what to say to that...

Well, I _didn't_. But the Police Girl didn't seem to hear me; she just started shivering and sweating, and eventually she ran and hid in a cupboard. I heard her muttering things like "not guilty, Your Honor...", but I just kind of ignored it. That girl is seriously messed up, I'm telling you.

So... yeah. These soldiers started pouring into our hotel room, and from what I could get from their minds, they thought we were terrorists or something. I don't think they knew I was after the Nazis, and I don't think they wanted to put Police Girl in the slammer, either. Regardless, I kind of hid behind one of the curtains, because I wanted to see their faces when I jumped out and scared the pee out of them. But then I remembered my coffin was lying in the middle of the room, right where they could wipe their grubby Mexican hands all over it. Sure enough, they come in and start congregating around my box, trying to make sense of the whole "The Bird of Hermes is my name" thing. I get really OCD about my coffin, so I told them not to touch it. The soldiers started looking around with this "Huh?" look on their faces, so I decided to try again.

"Don't touch my coffin. Don't do it. It's off-limits."

Well, one of the guys sniggered and asked, "¿Por qué?" I knew just enough Spanish to know what he meant. Since he apparently understood me in English, I figured he was doing the whole Spanish thing just to annoy me, so I answered him in English.

"Just don't touch it, okay? That's all I'm asking you. Don't. Touch. The. Coffin."

Well, do you know what the idiot does next? He leans forward and mockingly twirls his index finger around before deliberately placing it on my coffin!

Mexican: I'm touching it... *snigger*

Me: Oh, come on, you just- no! Stop it! Get away from there, you- Really, guys? Really? Come on, just because your friend here decides he wants to die doesn't mean every single one of you has to rub your filthy paws on my- GAH! I told you to stop touching- EEEEEWWW! Gross! Why would you lick- Oh, now that is just wrong!

Finally tiring of watching a bunch of Mexicans do obscene things to my coffin, I flew out from behind the curtain with a shriek and descended upon them. That's when they finally realized there was something actually dangerous in this hotel room, and I was so happy at finally getting some respect that I decided to do something unique. So, I ate a few of them and chased the rest into an elevator. They tried to close the doors on me, but who seriously believes that an elevator door is going to save you from the most powerful vampire of all time?

Well, I rode down to the ground floor, and I shot two of them every time we got to a new floor. There were thirteen floors, so that would mean there were X number of Mexicans... umm, let's see, thirteen times two is... factor in the free radical... probability of favorable outcomes...integrals... fx=a0+n=1∞ancosnπxL+bnsinnπxL... and I get eleventy-two. That doesn't sound right. I need a math geek to check my answers.

So, that was pretty much it for the Mexicans. Once I finished with them, I decided to go for a walk outdoors, and boy, was there a pleasant surprise waiting for me...

_(Publisher's Note: I do not condone discrimination against Mexicans. Alucard has been reprimanded for his cultural intolerance.)_

**AN: Will you quit that?**

_(Publisher's Note: Quit what?)_

**AN: That! Stop interrupting my entries for your little "notes". It's annoying!**

_(Publisher's Note: Well, if you'd refrain from writing inappropriate/racist/sexist/narcissistic things, I would stop bothering you. Besides, I'm the publisher. I do what I want, or you don't get a cent in royalties.)_

**AN: You- You are pure evil! And stop supporting Anderson in the middle of my entries!**

_(Publisher's Note: But he's dreamy...)_

**AN: Oh, for the love of- That's it, I'm going to find another publisher!**

_(Publisher's Note: Actually, you can't do that. It's in your contract.)_

**AN: What? No it's not!**

_(Publisher's Note: Author's Contract Clause 6415: I, the author, in signing below, do hereby solemnly swear that I will not give my materials to any publisher other than ProbableImpossibilities Inc. If I do so, I will be legally bound to suffer any sort of torment the publisher may imagine for me. I will also agree that I will not form my own publishing company, because such a feat is beyond my limited IQ and I cannot simply look up the process on Google. In the event I should happen to find a loophole through this clause, I will immediately sign my rights over to ProbableImpossibilities, Inc.)_

**AN: You- you- I am going to kill you! THIS IS WAR!**

_(Publisher's Note: I do so love a good declaration of hostilities. Hire whatever lawyer you want; you can't touch me.)_

**AN: Maybe, but I have the public on my side!**

_(Publisher's Note: How can you be so sure? I think most of them agree with me.)_

**AN: Yeah right. Hey, readers, I want you to get in on this! Get involved! Take a side!**

_(Publisher's Note: Sure, why not? Just let us know who you think is the most awesome.)_

**AN: I'm going to win.**

_(Publisher's Note: We'll see about that...)_


	9. The Dandy Man

_免責事項__: __私はヘルシング所有していない_

**AN: YEAH! Alucard for the win! Readers, I love you! All of you! Ha-ha-ha, YES! VICTORY!**

_(Publisher's Note: Well, I do suppose you've got me beat. But that's no reason to gloat.)_

**AN: Uh-huh, sure. You're just mad because you're a loser.**

_(Publisher's Note: That's not very sportsmanlike of you, Alucard.)_

**AN: Hey, do I look like give a crap?**

_(Publisher's Note: Now how am I supposed to know that, oh brilliant victor? Hmm?)_

**AN: You suck.**

_(Publisher's Note: Well, on that lovely note, why don't you start your entry? Oh, and by the way, your deadline's been moved to approximately two minutes from now.)_

**AN: What? You can't do that!**

_(Publisher's Note: Author's Contract Clause 3578: In the event I, the author, should offend the publisher, ProbableImpossibilities Inc., in any way [insults, pranks, sore winning, etc.], the publisher has the right to set impossible deadlines for me at whatever date/time she so wishes. If I, the author, do not comply with these set deadlines, I hereby agree to suffer any and all consequences such action may entail [consequences are listed in detail on Page 367 of the Author's Contract]. Additionally, further spiting of the publisher will lead to further consequences, and so on and so forth until my contract is eventually terminated.)_

**AN: $%&*#!**

_(Publisher's Note: I would insert a devilish emoticon, but I'm not sure how. I don't text.)_

**AN: Once again, you suck. What size font did you type all that crap in, anyway? Size 1****1/2****?**

_(Publisher's Note: Actually, it was 1__3/4__. Now start your entry; time is ticking...)_

**AN: Fine... :(**

_(Publisher's Note: Augh, I am so envious.)_

**AN: XD**

Saturday

IT'S THE WEEKEND! Woo-hoo! But wait... I don't go to school, and I don't work. I just sit in a basement all day and play fetch with my hellhound. So why do I love weekends..?

Whatever. It's still Saturday, and I'm still pretty stoked from that awesome fight I had in Rio the other day. It was so incredible, I just- Oh, wait... I didn't write about the Dandyman yet, did I? I don't think I did. Sorry, I'll write it down now while it's still fresh in my mind (and I do have one, Publisher, thank you very much.)

_(Publisher's Note: Highly unlikely.)_

Anyway, I sauntered out the hotel front doors. Finding the parking lot rather devoid of decorative flavor, I decided to pin up a couple of Mexicans on the lamp-posts; you know, brighten things up a bit. It actually ended up really freaking out the people outside, but hey, who says that's a bad thing? I always enjoy freaking people out.

So, I made my grand entrance, and that's when I saw him. He was standing on the fringe of a mob of Mexicans and reporters, and he actually wasn't peeing himself at the sight of me. He wore a brown suit, which I think really belongs in, what, the forties? Either that, or on the back rack at Goodwill, gathering dust, moths, and who knows what else. He also wore a matching brown hat with a short brim, and a dark brown pinstriped shirt (ugh, it made me want to vomit). As if all that wasn't fashion-atrocity enough, he was also wearing weird brown boots and, get this... a pastel purple tie. That color... augh, I hate that color. It's practically screaming either a mildly-overweight, bossed-around-by-his-wife suburban office worker, a starving artist, or someone who's gay. All in all, he looked like a colorblind and possibly flamboyant swing-dance wannabe. It made me want to puke.

But I digress. Regardless of what he looked like, I got excited the moment I laid eyes on him (not that way, you perv!). Since this new man obviously wasn't scared of me in the slightest, I knew I was going to have a marvelous fight on my hands. At that point I was still feeling rather let down from my missed opportunity to beat the stuffing out of Anderson the other day, so I decided that this guy might compensate quite nicely for the empty hole in my heart where violence used to be.

Okay, so you know how I decided to disregard his weirdness and just evaluate him on his fighting? Like, you all know for a fact that I wasn't intentionally trying to be biased. I just wanted to clear that up before I move on.

The guy told me his name was Tube-khan All-ham-and-bras. At least, I think that's what he said. I don't know, whatever it was, it was weird. If I even remembered what he actually said (which I don't), there's no way I'm going to be able to spell it right. So, I'm going to stick with ham-and-bras for now, because there is no possible way I am going to get that right and I really like ham.

And bras.

But anyway, he told me his name, and I started wigging out because I had no idea how to trash-talk him. How do you insult a person whose idiot parents gave them a name like that? He probably spent ninety percent of his childhood recesses jumping rope or whatever in rhythm to the kids making fun of his name. I was worried that he would be immune to my usual techniques.

However, he told me a couple of seconds later that his nickname was the Dandyman, and instantly I realized that I would have some material after all. I mean, put two and two together. Purple tie + Dandyman = GAYNESS! No offense to homosexual people or anything; I really don't care if two guys like each other. They can do whatever they friggin' want, I'm not gonna make a fuss (although the ladies are really more my speed). However, you must understand that homosexuality is a veritable gold mine of nasty remarks and/or verbal bullying. And whether he was gay or not, I fully intended on wearing down this Dandyman psychologically until his psyche shattered into a million woe-begotten pieces on the floor, or melted into a puddle of gibberish and trauma. Why, you ask? Because I'm evil.

So, as soon as the introductions were out of the way, the Dandyman and I started fighting. It was awesome! He totally went all Gambit on me he had these cards that could slice through rocks buildings and poorly-written run-on sentences. Don't have a hernia, Grammar Police, it was a joke. I love finding people who are like that, you know, those people that spazz out if you write 'who' instead of 'whom'. I am absolutely expert at making them PO-ed, I kid you not. One time I ran into this uppity school-marm English teacher; you know, those fifty-year-old ladies who wear hats with wide brims and reading glasses eternally perched on the bridge of their beaky noses. She started conversing with me about the weather in this clipped Oxford accent, so I decided to make her angry and started yammering about bovine fodder in a painfully exaggerated Southern drawl.

Mrs. Means: Oh, it's absolutely horrid outside today, wouldn't you agree? This light rain is completely detestable.

Me: WeeeEEEEEEeell now, a lil' rain ain't that bad, marm. I'll be durned if it don't water all them purty plants an' stuff likes ya got 'round these here parts. An' it ain't all that bad fer keepin' the fertilizer fresh, too. Y'know, them cows, sometimes theys just can't churn it out fast enough. 'Course, some folks says theys got a durn turrible smell after a rain, but shoot, I don't really notice nothin'...

I swear, if it hadn't been raining, that woman would have spontaneously combusted. Wow, that rabbit trail was really long and completely useless. Ah, well. I guess I just felt you should know that.

Anyway, the Dandyman used playing cards like throwing stars. It was so ninja. NINJA! The only problem was that he thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and that I was just some pansy he could kill and take home as another trophy for his expansive Mexican fireplace. As you can probably tell, I do not take kindly to that pattern of thinking.

Unfortunately, every time I tried to fire at him, he either blocked my shot with some card or ripped me to shreds. This went on for some time, and after a while I was really mad. So, I told him to squeal like a pig.

He, of course, laughed at my comment, and proceeded to fling more cards at me. Thankfully, the Police Girl had finally dragged herself out of the cupboard and started getting in on the action. She emptied a full clip at the guy while I (literally) pulled myself together. The Dandyman was really cussing her out, and I don't care for people who swear at my fledgling, so I decided to pop out of nowhere and face-rape him.

Then I snapped his leg.

For those of you who don't know what face-rape is, I pretty much grabbed his face in a disturbing way and squeezed. For those of you who don't know what breaking legs is, you're probably living under a rock or on the planet Mars. Or both. In either case, allow me to be the first to tell you to go back to where you came from.

Anyway, I had him by the face and by the arm, but somehow he managed to slither out of my grasp. So I launched my signature ultra-powerful-hand-of-death strike, which he attempted to counter with a Jack of Clubs. Needless to say, I tore right through his flesh and pretty much destroyed his entire arm. I held his head in my hands, and started spouting the standard "mission fulfillment" BS. Then, I covered his mouth with my hand, and bit into his neck.

Let me tell you, that man tasted like a rotting apple covered in mustard. It was terrible! He was A Positive, too, which happens to be my absolute least favorite blood type. Not to mention the fact that he was most definitely not a virgin. Overall, that blood was just plain foul. I hope I never have to taste anything that bad again as long as I unlive.

And, to top it all off, I was just about to finish sucking when the Dandyman burst into flames. I don't know about you, but I most definitely do not enjoy having the left side of my face burnt off. Regenerating eye and nose tissue is not fun. Not to mention the fact that the life I just absorbed is now missing the entire left side of his head.

So, yeah. After that, the Police Girl and I had to be picked up by that stupid mercenary who randomly showed up in a helicopter after all the action took place. I think Police Girl was too pleased to see him; I'll have to talk to her about that. Well, we rode in the helicopter for a couple of hours... okay, maybe it was more like ten minutes, but time seems to take forever in the presence of Pip Vernadead. On the way to wherever, Police Girl decided to ask me something.

Police Girl: So, why is the IRS after you? Aren't they the American tax service?

Me: Umm... can you keep a secret?

Police Girl: Ooh, I love secrets! Hold on, let me fire up my Facebook...

Me: Actually, no, never mind. I'd rather not say.

I've decided that the world doesn't need to know what happened between me and the IRS. It is a secret so sensitive that I will never even write it down. If you're really dying to know what happened, just use your imagination, because I'm not telling.

And that is the end of my adventures in Mexico. Well, technically it's not, but that's another story... for another entry. Until then, hasta luego, mi amigos!

Editor's Note: You do realize this all takes place in Brazil, right, Mr. Alucard?

**AN: Whoa. Who are you?**

Editor's Note: I'm Sarah. I'm your editor, Mr. Alucard!

_(Publisher's Note: Dispense with the "Mr.", please. He's a creature, not a gentleman.)_

Editor's Note: Oh, please don't be mean to Alu-sama!

**AN: Yeah, don't be a hater. Thanks, Sarah, but I can handle this Publisher twit on my own.**

_(Publisher's Note: You couldn't handle a written contract that I gave you two months to look over.)_

**AN: Why you... you... That's different!**

_(Publisher's Note: Hmm.)_

Editor's Note: Umm, Publisher, miss... umm, "hmm" isn't a sentence, miss.

_(Publisher's Note: Do you really think I care? Remember your place in the literary food chain, Editor.)_

**AN: The literary what?**

_(Publisher's Note: The literary food chain. Authors like you make up the bottom trophic level, editors like Sarah are the second trophic level, and the top trophic level is, of course, occupied by publishers like myself. In essence, I am the top dog around here, and don't any of you dare forget it!)_

**AN: Sheesh. You're really, really getting on my nerves, you know that?**

Editor's Note: Not to sound like a know-it-all, Ms. Publisher, but the bottom level of the food chain is comprised of primary producers, which contribute all of the energy needed to sustain the ecosystem. And, umm, only ten percent of that energy is passed on through each trophic level.

_(Publisher's Note: So you're saying that Alucard is a plant?)_

Editor's Note: I'm saying that Alucard would be the primary producer of our metaphorical food chain. You know, PP. Patrick Pettis.

_(Publisher's Note: What?)_

Editor's Note: Sorry, sorry.

**AN: She's saying that you only get... let's see... one percent of my awesome-ness for every unit of awesome-ness I ****exude****.**

**AN: Wait, why was that last word underlined?**

Editor's Note: I, umm, don't be angry, Alu-sama, but I edited your dialogue.

_(Publisher's Note: "Exude"? Really?)_

Editor's Note: But, we used the word "produce" an awful lot earlier... a different word adds interest.

**AN: I... umm... this is awkward, but... I don't know what ex- exu- THAT WORD means.**

_(Publisher's Note: I figured as much. Just forget about it; don't hurt your tiny mind.)_

Editor's Note: PLEASE DON'T BE MEAN TO ALU-SAMA!

**AN: Finally, someone whose favorite character is actually the main character!**

Editor's Note: Umm, Alu-sama, please don't take this the wrong way... I do like you, but...

**AN: But what?**

Editor's Note: My favorite character is Maxwell-chan.

**AN: Why me? [Off to kill ghouls and write emo poems about the unfairness of life]**

_(Publisher's Note: Well, don't expect them to get published.)_

**AN: What, the ghouls or the poems?**

Editor's Note: Sorry, Alu-sama! Sorry, sorry!


	10. Fight to the Death in a Mexican Hotel

Editor's Note: Umm, Alu-sama... Publisher-san is missing.

**AN: Hmm, I guess you could say she is missing. How about that.**

Editor's Note: What did you do to Publisher-san, Alucard?

**AN: Me? I didn't do anything.**

Editor's Note: ALUCARD!

**AN: Seriously, I swear I didn't do anything.**

Editor's Note: Then why is Publisher-san missing?

**AN: She's just mad that the last chapter only got three reviews. If it hadn't been for TheCrazyPurpleChocolateNinja, roo17, and Tsuki no Rekuen (who are all quite charming and wonderful, by the way), she would have gone to Aruba and stayed there forever. I have been alive for 500-some-odd years and I have never been to Aruba! Thankfully, she went to Hawaii instead, and she's not coming back until we get more reviews.**

Editor's Note: "We"? Alu-sama, you mean "you". Until **you** get more reviews.

**AN: Oh, right. She won't come back until **_**you**_** get us more reviews.**

Editor's Note: What? Alu-sama, that's not what I meant-

**AN: Less talk, Editor. Go on, rustle up some reviews! And make it snappy; I don't want that Publisher to spend any more time in the lovely state of Hawaii than she has to!**

Editor's Note: Umm, review? Please?

Sunday

So, Police Girl, Pip, and I managed to escape the evil clutches of the Mexicans. And yes, I have been told numerous times that Rio is actually in Brazil, so they would be Brazilians. Well, just sit tight and let me explain my logic to you politically-correct simpletons. I was locked in a basement for over a hundred years of my unlife. Thus, the last time I saw a world map was in 1892, and I didn't really pay that much attention to the thing, anyway. I just looked at the big stuff. All I knew was that England was some island off the coast of Russia, everything north of the USA was Canada, everything south of the USA was Mexico, and Wallachia wasn't on the map anymore *sniffle*. Of course, now everybody's got these fancy Google maps and whatnot, and people keep telling me I'm wrong all the time. Well, I don't really care if you say you're Brazilian or whatever... if it's south of the USA, it's Mexico! So there.

Anyway, we Three Musketeers ended up in some rinky-dinky hotel in some backwoods town called St. Rose or something. Of course, the minute we got there, Police Girl spazzed and insisted that I call Sir Integra to report what happened. I'd barely gotten my coffin through the door, and Nature had been calling relentlessly since the beginning of that helicopter ride. After all, I did drink God knows how many gallons of blood right before we left. So I told her to shove it and ran to the boy's room. The hotel was really small, so there wasn't a bathroom in our room. There was just this dingy public restroom a few feet away from the lobby.

You would not believe who was in there.

I threw open the door and froze. There, washing his hands in the sink, stood Alexander Anderson. Of course, we both noticed each other immediately. For a couple of seconds, we just stood there staring at each other, me with incredible hat-hair, him with soap still all over his hands. Two silver bayonets slid from his sleeves and into his hands with a soft _shik_. I would have loved to indulge him, but I suddenly remembered why I was here. I held my hands up in surrender.

Me: Look, can we do this some other time?

Anderson: ...

Me: Okay, okay, I know this is awkward. But... I really have to go...

Anderson: ...

Me: Oh, come on. I can't stand here forever.

Anderson: ...Fine... But Ah'll be back in two hours.

I ran into a stall and did my business. When I finished, the Judas Priest was gone, true to his word. Since he said he'd be back in two hours, I was debating whether I should tell the Police Girl about it. It was a short debate. There was no way I was gonna let her ruin another fight. Besides, I wanted to let Anderson scare the pee out of Pip. I wanted to see that mercenary's face when the Judas Priest walked in the door. Then, I wanted to snap a photo of it and post it on Facebook.

However, I still had to report to my tyrannical Master. When I got back to the room, I noticed that Police Girl and Pip had gone out to "grab a snack". One of them had left me a note, but they hadn't signed it, so I have no idea who wrote it. I'm kind of hoping it was Police Girl, because the handwriting was rather flowery, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was Pip. I'm really starting to not like that man.

Well, I dialed the super-secret number that only Walter and I know (867-5309), and was immediately bombarded by an onslaught of angry yelling. My Master never answers the phone nicely.

Of course, she wanted to know anything and everything that happened to me within the last 48 hours, AKA, how the mission went down, how the service was at the hotel, where I am now, who was driving the limo, what food I ate, what food Pip and Police Girl ate, a detailed list of everything I destroyed/disintegrated/blew up, etc., etc. I have no idea what she does with all this information, but if I don't give it to her the phone will short-circuit and there will be sparks in my ear.

She asked where I was and I told her. Actually, that was pretty much all she asked me for. I was incredibly surprised that we weren't going to play Twenty-Million Questions.

"_Was what you destroyed an animal, a vegetable, or a mineral?"_

My conversations with Sir Integra are always like that. I'm a vampire; I don't do much EXCEPT destroy stuff. And I am darn good at it, too. No one destroys stuff better than me except black holes and supernovae, but they don't count.

So after my Master found out where I was, she told me I needed to get back home immediately. Well, if you remember entry... what was it, seven? Ah, screw it, I don't remember. But anyway, if you remember earlier entries, you'll know that there was a slight problem with this.

Me: Umm, Master... you never gave me a plane ticket for the return trip.

Integra: The ticket was round-trip, you git!

Me: Wait, what? Round-trip?

Integra: Yes, you fool, round-trip! Don't tell me you threw yours out...

Me: Well, actually, I threw all of them out. Police Girl's and Pip's, too.

Integra: You #$%&*!

Me: In my defense, the paper shredder made a pretty noise.

Well, it did. However, Sir Integra wasn't exactly willing to accept that as an excuse. It turns out that the Queen called some meeting, and I needed to get back in time to deliver my report. My Master, of course, was furious, so she didn't even bother to send me a jet or anything. She just me to find my own way back and hung up. It wasn't nearly that civil, of course, but now every time I use a swear word in this thing, Publisher stuffs a bar of soap in my mouth.

So, yeah, moving on. After I put the phone down, Police Girl and Pip came back. Police Girl was wearing the most ridiculous jacket I have ever seen. It was atrocious. I can't believe she went out in public like that! Pip, of course, waltzed in with shirt un-buttoned and McDonald's bag in hand. Ugh, I hate that man. Ugh, I hate that restaurant.

He immediately proceeded to yap on and on about boats or something, while slurping his stupid Shamrock Shake in the most obnoxious way possible. I wanted to punch him in the face, but I didn't want minty milkshake up my sleeve, so I refrained. Somehow.

Since I was in such a mood, and he was trying to figure out how to get back, I figured I'd "help" him a little.

Me: Get ready, you two. We're stealing an airplane. There's no other way...

I thought I was being sarcastic, but I guess I'm not really good at that yet. Humans have such odd nuances in their language and communications these days. It's unbelievable. In my time, people said what they meant, and they didn't abbreviate random words in the name of texting. Like, for example, legitimate. No one ever says that anymore; everything is "legit". Some people even say "legitly"! That's not a word! Augh, it makes me so mad, I just want to rip those ghetto hoodlums and country bumpkins limb from idiotic limb! But in any case, Pip apparently thought I was serious, because he was wigging out like nobody's business. That, of course, made me smile.

However, something made me turn my attention away from the spazzing Frenchman. All of a sudden, I could sense a familiar presence. I looked at the clock; it was now exactly two hours after the incident in the restroom. He was impeccably punctual.

Police Girl noticed that I was staring at the door; I was probably spacing out. She probably thought I was some retard who suddenly lost all mental function. Anyway, she went to the door and looked through the peep-hole-thing. My grin only widened when she screamed and started running for the back of the room. Pip, being the idiot that he is, had no idea what was going on and just kind of stood there, right next to the door. I turned on my camera.

Suddenly, a foot kicked right through the middle of the door, sending wood flying everywhere. I snapped a photo; Pip's good eye was the size of an ostrich egg, and his cigarette was about to go down his shirt. It was a priceless Kodak moment.

Anderson entered the room, stooping at first to get through the frame of the demolished door. I was absolutely ecstatic; that was such an epic way to enter a room. Plus, there was a splinter the size of my thumb planted firmly in Pip Vernadead's behind.

There was no need for words. We simply walked towards each other as slowly as possible, letting the tension build to optimum levels. The paladin obviously enjoyed this just as much as I did, if not more. When we finally came close enough to each other, I delivered a hard, merciless sucker-punch to his abdomen, while he smashed a practiced right hook against my jaw. It was incredible; I felt like Muhammad Ali.

This punching thing went on for a little bit after we both recovered. Anderson hits hard for a human, and I remember being incredibly impressed. Not too impressed, of course, but impressed. I didn't have the greatest feeling ever right then, though, because his hit caught me on the jaw and my face was bleeding. Do you know what it's like for a vampire to get their own blood in their mouth? It's like a human eating his own puke. It's gross.

After the first hit we immediately reversed positions, AKA, I got to hit the face this time and he went for my torso. Let me tell you, that man got a nose-bleed he won't forget any time soon. I think I decimated his glasses, too. That would certainly explain the prescription splinters in my knuckles...

Of course, I'd just eaten give-or-take a hundred people yesterday, and he hit me right in the stomach. Ugh, I felt like I was gonna puke. Have you ever seen a vampire puke? It's not something you ever want to see. Especially when the lives that have been regurgitated start writhing around on the floor and moaning. But I didn't want Pip to see me spill my guts, so I held it together. Damn human.

Pip fired a warning shot at Anderson, if you could really call it that. I think his finger just slipped, because the bullet didn't go anywhere near the man. Of course, this made him draw his bayonets, so I pulled out my pistols and got ready to get crackin'.

All of a sudden, I hear this groan/moan/whatever sound coming from the back of the room. We all turned around to look, and I swear I almost blushed from embarrassment. My fledgling had hoisted the Harkonnen over her shoulder, and she stood there, trembling, with a shell between her teeth. It was the most humiliating thing ever. Not only did the Police Girl prove herself to be totally incompetent in front of my worst enemy, but she did it for the second time in a row! Augh, I wanted to strangle her.

Anderson, of course, saw this and laughed. I wanted to smack him, but I didn't. I'm still not sure why.

He threw one of his bayonets and pinned some sort of official-looking document to the back wall. I looked at it, didn't read a word, but decided to take a crack at Pip.

Me: Ooh, is that a McDonald's job application? Captain Vernadead's been needing one for a while now...

Pip: 'Ey! Monsieur Alucard! Whose side are you on?

Me: Hmm, let's see... whatever side is opposite the stupid-French-perverts-who-try-to-steal-my-fledgling side. And whoever beats the Pittsburgh Pirates, 'cuz they really suck.

He shut up after that. I think he likes the Pirates. The nerve of him!

So, yeah. Anderson didn't give a hoot about our argument right then. He just yammered on and on about some private jet at some crop-duster's. Then he put his broken glasses back on his face, threatened me, and left. Looking at the shards of glass in my knuckle, he had a really thick prescription. I still wonder how he made it out the door without bumping into something.

That's the REAL ending to my adventures in Mexico. Finally, I get to say "Adios!" to Spanish-land. Back to good ole Europe. Of course, I brought back a whole bunch of Jalapeños to artfully place in my Master's tea, but that's another story, for another entry...

Editor's Note: Umm, please review... I'll give you a cookie! 

**AN: C'mon, you gotta try harder than that!**

Editor's Note: But Alu-sama, what do you want me to do?

**AN: Watch and learn, Editor. Just listen to Alucard-sensei. **

Editor's Note: Umm, okay...

**AN: YOU! Wretched mortals! Stop picking thy human noses and review, or thou shalt taste the wrath of HELL ITSELF! BWAHAHAHAHAHAH! Cower before my handsome visage, cretins! Behold the omnipotent power of the-**

Editor's Note: ALU-SAMA! What are you doing?

**AN: Oh, what the Fuddruckers **_**am**_** I doing?**

Editor's Note: I think you were having a Vlad-card moment.

**AN: Ah. Well then. This is really how it's done... Review you stupid noobs, or I'll email you a virus that will consume your pitiful hard-drive in one vicious gulp! Then I'm going to rudely remove you from my FACEBOOK PAGE! BWAHAHAHAHA! Stand in awe of the sexiness, losers!**

Editor's Note: Alu-sama, that's the same thing!

**AN: What do you want me to do, be polite?**

Editor's Note: ...maybe...

**AN: Fine. But you owe me big. Review... please?**

Editor's Note: Yay, Alu-sama! I'm so proud of you!

**AN: SHADDUP! **


	11. In Memorium Short

**In Memorium (Short)**

_(__Publisher's Note: Alex Anderson [cartoonist] died on October 22 of this year [2010]. We would like to take this time to honor his memory with a moment of silence.)_

-xxx-

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**AN: CHEEEEEEEEEEESE!**

Editor's Note: ALU-SAMA!

_(Publisher's Note: Why, you insolent ruffian! Can't you keep quiet for at least five minutes? You really are a disgrace to society!)_

**AN: You know, I'm not so sure I want you back anymore...**

_(Publisher's Note: Couldn't you at least show the slightest bit of respect for the dead? Of course, I know how difficult it is for your pea-brained mind to fathom matters of such consequence, but still.)_

Editor's Note: Alu-sama, you made Publisher-san upset!

**AN: No $%&#. I'm just sad I can't use that nickname on Anderson anymore.**

_(Publisher's Note: Oh, I see, that's how it's going to be, eh? I'll have you know, I happen to like Rocky and Bullwinkle. This is a tragedy comparable to the death of Nachi Nozawa [may he rest in peace].)_

**AN: Do you see my face? Do I look like I give a crap? And who the heck is Nachi Nozawa?**

Editor's Note: He was the voice of Anderson.

**AN: Okay, I get it now. Doesn't anyone care about Crispin Freeman?**

_(Publisher's Note: Pff, no. Why should I?)_

Editor's Note: You two, please stop fighting... you get scary when you do this...

**AN: Editor, the day we stop fighting will be the day the world ends.**

_(Publisher's Note: That idiotic cesspool-dwelling pond-scum is right for once, Editor. Sorry if I scare you, but you really should just stay out of our way.)_

**AN: Yes, Editor. Just stay out of that over-bearing tyrannical nutcase's way.**

Editor's Note: Right. Umm, what was the point of this entry?

_(Publisher's Note: We were honoring the memory of Alex Anderson.)_

Editor's Note: Oh, yeah. Rest in peace, Mr. Anderson. We'll all miss you.

_(Publisher's Note: Rest in peace. *sniff*)_

**AN: Just be glad death got to you before I did. Heh-heh-heh...**

_(Publisher's Note: That is it! I am stopping this non-entry right now, before things get any worse!)_

Editor's Note: Umm, alright then, Publisher-san. But I'd like to say that we're all happy you came back-

_(Publisher's Note: Tell me later, Editor! We're done now! Fin! Amen!)_

**AN: Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I-**

_(Publisher's Note: GYAAAAHHHH!)_

**FIN**


	12. A Serious Business Meeting

**AN: Wow...**

_(Publisher's Note: What?)_

**AN: We actually don't have anything to say right now.**

_(Publisher's Note: Oh my Dostoyevsky, you're right! This never happens!)_

**AN: I'm not even going to ask who Dostoyevsky is.**

_(Publisher's Note: Russian literary. You wouldn't understand.)_

Editor's Note: But, Publisher-san, Alu-sama... we DO have something to talk about!

**AN: Really? No way.**

_(Publisher's Note: Care to enlighten us, Editor?)_

Editor's Note: We forgot to tell them about Deviant Art!

**AN: Oh... yeah... umm...**

_(Publisher's Note: Editor, how could you have let me forget? Fie for shame!)_

Editor's Note: Uh, sorry...?

_(Publisher's Note: "Diary of a Not-So-Wimpy Vampire" is finally on Deviant Art! My distant cousin, ProbablyImpossible, uploads a lot of cartoons and such there.)_

Editor's Note: We've got all kinds of fun extras and bonus stuff we plan to post for you guys!

**AN: Oh my gosh, what an absolutely SHAMELESS ad campaign! Ugh, you make me sick!**

_(Publisher's Note: Try to contain your overwhelming excitement.)_

**AN: Yeah, well, I think I'll start my entry now.**

_(Publisher's Note: Nothing's stopping you.)_

Monday

Well, we finally left Mexico. Yay. But as soon as we got back I had to go to another one of Sir Integra's stuffy meetings. They're so... sophisticated, and... civil. They don't ever destroy anything at those meetings! Not even an ashtray! It makes me want to barf sometimes.

My Master's forced me to attend her meetings and conferences before, and this is what I've found: they're always full of old people. Old as in, escaped-from-the-nursing-home ancient. And they all smell like old people, too. It's disgusting.

So, I went in there expecting the worst. And, yes, there were a bunch of old people there, but there were younger people, too. People like that twig of a Section Thirteen chief and one of his assassins. However, I noticed he brought an old guy with him, as well, so the concept must be some sort of universal tradition... or something. Humans these days. They're all so odd.

Anyway, I finally made it to this meeting, and Master looked really pleased to see me. Like, genuinely happy that I was there, not just relieved that she wouldn't have to cover the cost of my extensive damages. That made me feel... I'm not quite sure how that made me feel. I can't really describe it in words, but it felt... good. Yeah. It felt good.

So, as soon as I got there, I had to deliver my report to the Queen. I'll admit, it was nice to see her again. It's been fifty years, but to me that's only yesterday. I can still see her in that white dress, when she showed me her new haircut... she'd gotten it bobbed, silly girl, she looked absolutely ridiculous. But it suited her, somehow. I can still remember that evening when we sat next to each other by the shore, and I held her hand in mine... ah, but she's so much more than that now. She's become truly beautiful. She doesn't need me anymore.

Well, I delivered my report, which was, essentially, what I gleaned from Tube-kahn's prokaryotic brain cells. It consisted of this:

-This fat dude called the Major is in love with war (Creepy!).

-He built himself an army of undead freaks.

-Walter and I thought we took him out fifty years ago, but apparently we didn't (Creepy again!).

-This Major guy is really obsessed with killing me (Super-creepy!).

-And other assorted schtuff.

While I was giving my report, I started to sense something odd. Something... not quite right. Some presence that was with us, but not with us. Something that was there, but was impossible to really notice. Something... like Canada. It started to freak me out; what if the IRS figured out a new way to creep on me? If they find out what I did, they'll never leave me alone!

Thankfully, though, as soon as I finished speaking a blond cat-boy popped up right in front of the door. He was wearing a Hitler Youth uniform and staring at Seras, and I knew that he was the presence I'd been sensing. Wait... he was staring at Seras. You mean there's another male enemy after my fledgling? Come on, the thing is, like, twelve! What a sicko! I'm gonna have to be really protective of Police Girl from now on.

Anyway, he put this Skype-type thing on the table, and told us to pay attention because his "glorious Major" had a message for all of us. Enrico Maxwell looked like he'd swallowed a Sour Patch factory. That man and his expressions... he's so much fun to laugh at. However, his face was along the lines of what I was feeling like right then. I don't believe that we'll ever be on the same page, but we might have been in the same book.

Well, it was about then that I realized that the neko nuisance was completely incompetent. Cat-boy pulled out a remote with an extravagant gesture and pointed it at the screen. However, it didn't turn on. So what does idiot Cat-boy do? He stands there, staring at the screen and pressing the "on" button over and over, hoping and praying that the thing will somehow magically start working. I don't know about you, but that is definitely not what I do when I have technical difficulties. I'm more intelligent than that. I just curse and throw whatever it is out the nearest window. That solves all my problems every time.

However, we were spared further idiocy by the screen suddenly fizzing to life. And lo and behold, there stood the Major, in all his morbidly obese glory. I'd met the man before: fifty years ago, when Walter and I destroyed his research facility. Of course, I was Girlycard back then, and I don't really want to talk about that in great detail, for obvious reasons.

So, I said 'hi', to be polite. He said 'hi' back. Maxwell started looking at me like I was from Mars or something, and my Master started to get angry that she was being ignored. The Major and I weren't even really talking at that point; we were just kind of staring at each other. He was eyeing me up like a Christmas turkey, which I thought was really, really creepy. However, I hadn't had a good staring contest for a while, so I'd decided to start one.

However, my Master was never a patient person. She practically shouted, "So you're the enemy leader," from across the room. Of course, the Major turned and looked at her immediately, and I mentally recorded yet another staring-contest win for Team Alucard.

Team Alucard: 2,076

Team Edward: -2,076*

*For every awesome thing I do, Edward loses awesomeness. As things currently stand, a roundworm I took the liberty of naming Templeton is more awesome than Edward by almost 2,000 points.

So, after that, I pretty much ceased to pay attention. The Major started making these long speeches about war and Nazism and other crap like that, and I became very bored very quickly. I regained just enough interest to laugh creepily and applaud his war declaration, but that was pretty much it. Of course, everyone else in the room was about to pee his/her pants because of something the Major was filming, but I didn't see what it was. It was probably a clip from Eclipse.

Maxwell made some comment on insanity, and that got the Major going on yet another long spiele. Oh, sorry, spiel. Spiele is something entirely different.

So, after all the speeches and whatever, Sir Integra got really mad and ordered me to shoot Cat-boy, and order I was only too happy to oblige. However, his dead body just kind of disappeared after I shot him, which was really creepy... maybe he DOES work for the IRS! Oh, God, no, don't let it be so!

Police Girl shot the Skype-type thing to smithereens, and the Queen ordered us to destroy them. And that was the end of the meeting. Before we left, I saw Maxwell on the phone with somebody, and they were talking about malts or something. At least I think he said 'malt'. I don't know, it might have been 'Malta'. Oh, well. It's probably not anything the innocent citizens of London need to be concerned with.

**AN: Hey, Editor...**

Editor's Note: Yes, Alu-sama?

**AN: Why do you like Maxwell so much? He's kind of creepy.**

Editor's Note: No he's not! He's just haunted by his tragic past!

**AN: Oh yes, and that's why he ordered the deaths of so many people. His tragic past.**

Editor's Note: That wasn't him! That was his evil twin brother, Enrique Iglesias!

**AN: Wait, what? The 'baby, I like it' guy? They are definitely not related.**

Editor's Note: They are, too! They were separated at birth.

**AN: So, an American pop singer is Enrico Maxwell's evil twin.**

Editor's Note: POP CULTURE ICONS ARE EVIL!

**AN: Just how many excuses for Enrico's behavior do you have?**

Editor's Note: I don't know what you're talking about, Alu-sama.

_(Publisher's Note: Trust me, she has quite the list.)_


	13. Lucky Number Thirteen and a Musket

**AN: Hey, you two... guess what?**

Editor's Note: Umm, Alu-sama, why are you grinning wickedly like that...?

_(Publisher's Note: Oh, no. I knew this was coming, but I didn't think we'd make it this far.)_

**AN: Thanks for the support. But guess what? We are now in the midst of ENTRY THIRTEEN! Duh-duh-DUH!**

Editor's Note: Eeeek!

_(Publisher's Note: Well, then, I guess you have a sudden urge to do something scary.)_

**AN: Oh, yes, I do! I'm just not sure what.**

_(Publisher's Note: How can you not be sure what? You're a vampire! Halloween practically revolves around you!)_

**AN: Actually, the world revolves around me.**

_(Publisher's Note: It does not.)_

Editor's Note: Umm, Alu-sama, the world revolves around the Sun, as do the other planets in our solar system.

**AN: I knew that, it was a joke-**

Editor's Note: -and the Sun revolves around the black hole at the center of the Milky Way, which probably revolves around something else scientists haven't discovered yet-

**AN: SHUT UP! GYAAAAAHHH! I DO NOT CARE about the friggin' sun!**

_(Publisher's Note: Calm down. You're such a spazz.)_

Editor's Note: Eeek! Sorry, Alu-sama! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend anybody!

**AN: *Ninja skills: rapid change of subject* Actually, I think I thought of something exceptionally scary that was going to happen for this entry... but I just forgot what it was.**

_(Publisher's Note: How do you live with yourself? Your utter idiocy, I mean.)_

**AN: Hey, you try remembering things while people are shouting nonsense about black holes at you and calling you an idiot.**

_(Publisher's Note: Actually, that's my job. You're just too stupid to have full control over your cerebral functions.)_

Editor's Note: Don't be mean to Alu-sama!

**AN: *sigh* That's getting really old, Editor. Can't you think of some **_**other**_** way of saying that?**

Editor's Note: Like what?

**AN: I don't know, it's YOUR friggin' catchphrase!**

Editor's Note: Umm... 'I implore you to refrain from antagonizing Alu-sama'? How's that?

_(Publisher's Note: ...)_

**AN: Umm, never mind. Just... keep doin' what you're doin'. **

Editor's Note: Okay!

**AN: Sheesh.**

Tuesday

So, we got back to HQ after finishing the meeting, and my Master decided to force me to watch Inception with her. Her rationale was:

"You watched bloody Twilight with Seras, you can watch Inception with me."

Hard to argue with that. Especially when you're physically bound to the commands of the movie-goer in question. Of course, I was far more excited about watching Inception than I was about Twilight. Anyone who couldn't figure that out by now has obviously either not read any of the preceding chapters or been diagnosed with severe short-term memory loss. I'm not sure which makes me angrier.

Well, Inception wouldn't have been a bad movie... if I could even follow what the h*** they were talking about. Leave it to my Master to go out and bring home the most intensely intellectual action/thriller on DVD. All I got was that it was about thieves who steal things from people's dreams, who were trying to plant an idea in some annoying, wimpy business guy who kind of reminded me of Maxwell. AKA, all the stuff Joe Shmoe could learn from watching the commercials for it.

If I want to understand it, I'll have to watch it again. Maybe more than once.

I AM FATED TO HAVE BAD MOVIE LUCK! GYAAAAAHHHHHH!

But really, I'm just glad Pip didn't make me watch a movie with him. He would probably make me watch something like 'It's a Wonderful Life' in French. Now THAT would be Hell. Oh... guano. I've probably just brought something unspeakable down upon myself. NO! DON'T LET IT BE SO! NOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo...

Okay, I'm over it now. Let's see, where was I...? Oh, yeah. We got back from the meeting.

I watched Inception, after which I went down to my room/cell for some un-complicated happy time. However, I must have fallen asleep on my throne, because I soon found myself having a really weird dream.

The first thing I saw was a pair of ugly, hairy feet. That's always pleasant.

Well, I looked up and saw this really ugly cartoon-y thing that looked like it was supposed to look like Bruce Willis. I'm not sure if that's true, though, because he kept calling ME Willis... I don't know, it was awkward. He said he was the "spirit of my gun" or something, but Jackal makes me feel all nice inside and that guy was NOT giving me any warm fuzzy feelings right then. Actually, I shot at him a couple of times. I missed, though. Darn.

He then proceeded to launch into this tirade about all these different Bruce Willis movies... I don't know, the only one I recognized was the Sixth Sense. Fortunately, someone shot him right in the forehead and he fell over backwards. That made me happy, because that guy was really starting to creep me out.

The next thing I saw was a random window, and the guy who apparently just shot the other guy. This new guy started yammering on and on, and I'm not exactly sure what he was talking about.

New Guy: That guy's an imposter. That was close. Wallachia's betrayal is something we must always be careful of. Always do the maintenance of your weapon by yourself.

Me: What. The. Heck. (suddenly gets idea) Oh no, you're Leonardo DiCaprio, aren't you? You've come to steal my dreams!

In that moment, every little thing that happened in Inception came flooding back, and I realized that my subconscious had understood all of it. I still can't figure out how to transfer that to my conscious mind, though.

Anyway, New Guy looked at me kind of weird, but then he told me it was time to wake up. As if he can tell me what to do! I get up whenever I friggin' want to! Well, except on weekdays, 'cuz my Master wakes me up at 6:00 P.M. every night. But he's not my Master! So he shouldn't tell me when to wake up!

But I digress.

All of a sudden, General de Gaulle randomly showed up two feet away from me! And then New Guy shot at him for no apparent reason and swore when he missed. Even though Dream de Gaulle was within point-blank range. Which really makes the whole thing kind of pathetic, doesn't it?

Well, after that, all these random people started showing up. The Dogs of War, Maximilian Schell, someone calling himself the Emperor, the Fourth Protocol, and the Negotiator.

The whole time these weirdoes were saying "Konichiwa!", I just kept repeating "Who the h*** are you?" and "GO AWAY!" They just didn't seem to take the hint.

Well, everything eventually got covered in blood, and I heard somebody telling me to work hard, after which I woke up. I'll admit, that dream kind of shook me up a bit, and I suddenly got the feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong.

I ran upstairs to look for Sir Integra, but she wasn't there! Not in her office, not in her bedroom, not anywhere! That's when I started to get... well, not really, but... maybe just a tad... worried. Actually, scratch that. I wasn't worried! I never worry! I was just... concerned for my Master's well-being. And rightfully so, considering the last time she randomly left without telling me, I had to bail her out of a jail in Siberia. I had to rob a LOT of banks on that one...

However, Police Girl found me wandering around and told me Sir Integra had gone with Walter to meet with Sir Penwood. Apparently, some 'terrorists' had captured the HMS Eagle, 'terrorists' that were obviously Millennium vampires. I didn't go after her, of course. She'd kill me if I randomly showed up at whatever top-secret military meeting she was undoubtedly in the middle of. So I pretty much sat around, reading and playing Scrabble with my fledgling.

Again, I kept getting the feeling that something really bad was happening, but I couldn't really do anything about it. It was kind of infuriating. So, I decided I was tired of waiting and went to pay her a visit.

I arrived just in time to hear Sir Integra talking about getting a vampire (most likely me) onto some ship. Apparently it had just been commandeered by Millennium, and it had a ton of guns and stuff. Yeah.

They kept saying it was impossible, so I was kind of angry. I materialized out of the floor, and of course Sir Integra tells me it's not possible. She always has to ruin my fun, doesn't she? I never get any violence anymore!

However, Walter said he knew of an aircraft that could get me on the ship! I was so happy, I felt like I could burst! Another mission! WheeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeee! And a jet, too!

I was so, so, SO very happy with that jet.

It was the fastest thing I have ever flown! I usually don't fly; being over 500 years old can leave one rather technology illiterate, but this particular jet was, according to Walter, "completely idiot proof". I wasn't thrilled with his word choice, mind you, but I really, really liked that jet. It was the ultimate joyride experience! And to think, when I was a teenager, we thought thoroughbreds were cool.

As I neared the ship, I could sense a familiar presence. Yes, it was Rip Van Winkle, and I'd met her before, during that awkward time 50 years ago that I'm not going to discuss. She was freaking out like you would not believe, and I was having an awesome time, so I decided I wasn't going to land my jet. I was going to dive straight down and crash it into the deck at a million miles per hour!

Of course, Rip Van Winkle wasn't just gonna let that go. She fired her mystical magical musket at me, and it tore through most of the jet and my left ear. Inevitably, my jet caught on fire instantly, because that's just what happens when you shoot at the fuel tank. I don't like fire, so I thought I'd send Rip a little message.

Me (telepathically): _Hey, watch where you aim that thing, woman! You've just caused millions of pounds in property damage!_

Rip (not telepathically): I hear a voice... calling to me...!

Me: _No duh, you nitwit. Go play with your parasol._

Rip: He says... he's coming for me!

Well, obviously that is not what I said. I don't know how you can have telepathic hearing problems... maybe she's one of those people that confuses the thoughts in her head. I've run into a couple of those in my unlife, but they're usually locked in insane asylums.

Anyway, I kind of dematerialized and got ready to do battle. I melted in mid-air, which was odd because I was in free-fall and the red matter was flying everywhere, and I released the Cromwell Restrictions. Immediately, the eyes up and down my body opened, and I was back in my black bodysuit and ready to wreak some serious havoc. Oh yeah...

Rip, of course, was about ready to pee herself. I could see it in her eyes. She started whispering to herself, which I thought was kind of creepy, but I was too carried away at that point to really give a crap.

Suddenly, the jet hit the ship and everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) was on fire. I spotted Rip in the middle of the deck, scared witless and just standing there, staring at me. I walked towards her and reached out my hand.

Me: Those who dare impersonate the dead are judged to join their ranks!

Remember that, people. That's an important quote for your bulletin boards.

Of course, it was right at that moment that every nameless Nazi on the ship chose to fire at me, and while I was momentarily distracted, Rip ran away. I was not happy with this development, so I grew a million arms and killed all of them.

After that, I couldn't find Rip Van Winkle for the longest time. It was nuts. It was like Where's Waldo (I can NEVER find him!). Finally, I heard her annoying alarm clock go off, so I decided to walk over and step on it. Well, lo and behold, there she sat, hiding behind a wall and crying.

She got up, and started spouting her little rhyme. I hate that rhyme, it's so DUMB! However, she always fires her musket right after she says that rhyme, so I was happy I would get to fight her. Sure enough, she opened fire.

After, like, the forty-second time her bullet tore through my torso, I decided I'd had enough. So I bit down and turned to face her.

Me: Guess what I just caught... I. Just. Caught. YOU! Rip. Van. Winkle!

Of course, my lungs were in rags, so it came out... well, I sounded like a chronic smoker. But that was okay; she got my message. I walked up to her and punched her in the face. Who says I won't hit a girl? I don't have those kinds of scruples.

I pinned her against the wall, and stabbed her through the heart with her own musket. I then grew multiple arms so I could hold her still while I licked her blood off the deck. Now, she tasted good, as opposed to Luke and the Dandyman. She tasted really good... I decided I just might eat all of her.

So, I did. She was yummy. Yummy, yummy, yummy. Yummy in my tummy.

I always like ending with food, so I'll stop here. Auf Wiedersehen!

Hahhaha. Hahahahaha! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

(2 hours later)

! Hahaha. Ha. Okay, I'm done.

_(Publisher's Note: So, Alucard, did you think of anything scary to do while you were laughing your head off?)_

**AN: Actually, no, I... wait... oh, no.**

Editor's Note: What, Alu-sama? WHAT'S "OH, NO"?

**AN: I forgot... there's a critic who's going to come and review this story. And he's going to be here any second now!**

Editor's Note: OH NO!

_(Publisher's Note: GYAAAHHH! Why didn't you tell me this? Oh God, that's REALLY SCARY!)_

_**Critic's Note: Knock, knock, Alucard. I'm here to review your 'Diary'... heh heh heh...**_

Editor's Note: Oh my gosh, he uses ALL THE FONT FACES! Alu-sama, I'm so scared!

**AN: Wait a minute... You're a VAMPIRE!**

_**Critic's Note: That's right, Alucard. I'm the Vampire Critic. I critique all the vampire stories in existence. If they're not to my liking in the slightest way, I send them crashing and burning straight to literary Hell! MWAHAHAHAHA!**_

_(Publisher's Note: Listen to that laugh... he's PURE EVIL!)_

**AN: One question. WHERE THE H*** WERE YOU WHEN TWILIGHT CAME OUT?**

_**Critic's Note: Oh, right. Sorry about that; my superiors wouldn't let me touch that one. They called it a 'Romance'... I'm only allowed to mutilate 'Horror'.**_

**AN: Ah.**

Editor's Note: W- What are you gonna do to us, Mr. Critic?

_**Critic's Note: I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR SOULS!**_

_(Publisher's Note: I have no soul.)_

_**Critic's Note: Actually, I'm just going to rip your publicity prospects to shreds.**_

_(Publisher's Note: AAAAH, NO! LORD HAVE MERCY!)_

_**Critic's Note: Unfortunately, I have nothing to work with right now. I'll need a couple more reviews.**_

**AN: Alright, people, you heard the man. Review!**

Editor's Note: Mr. Critic, do you have a name?

_**Critic's Note: Yes, but I'm not going to tell you what it is.**_

**AN: Editor, his name is Tracy.**

_**Critic's Note: EGAD! How did you know? Oh, wait, they told me you have telepathy. Sorry, I forgot.**_

Editor's Note: You know, Alu-sama, Mr. Critic doesn't really seem that scary anymore.

**AN: Are you kidding? Publisher looks like she's gonna wet herself.**

_(Publisher's Note: Not another lawsuit... not another lawsuit... not another lawsuit... please let it not be another lawsuit...)_


	14. London Bridge is Falling Down

**AN: Hey, Publisher, I've been wanting to talk to-**

_(Publisher's Note: Not now, Alucard. I've got a very important meeting to get to, and I can't be late.)_

**AN: Oh... fine, just leave. I'll talk to Editor instead.**

Editor's Note: Umm, sorry, Alu-sama, but I have to run some errands. Maybe later?

**AN: Maybe not. I guess it's just me and you, then, Tracy.**

_**Critic's Note: Sorry, chum, no time to chat. I've got to see a man about a wallaby.**_

**AN: Just what nationality are you? *sigh* Well, it's just me... all by myself... for the rest of this white space... Man, I really need somebody to talk to.**

_PIP: Bonjour!_

**AN: HOLY CRAP, HOW THE H*** DID YOU GET HERE?**

_PIP: I don't know. I drank a lot of booze, zings got hazy, I ran into ze page border, and now I'm 'ere._

**AN: You- just- NO! No, no, no, no, no, NO, get the H*** out of here RIGHT NOW!**

_PIP: Oui, but..._

**AN: BUT WHAT?**

_PIP: I don't know 'ow._

**AN: This is definitely NOT what I wanted. Mercenary, find something to do while I write my entry.**

Wednesday

So... I have been on this FREAKING boat for DAYS (actually, maybe not days, but I'm starting to lose track of time). The dumb thing won't move faster than two knots. I'm really starting to regret crashing that jet right into the deck, because the engine systems were completely obliterated, and this giant behemoth of an aircraft carrier is running solely on Alu-power. And since I'm in the middle of the OCEAN, ALL ALONE with a bunch of CORPSES, I'm not getting back any time soon.

Which really, really sucks, because I feel like I'm missing out on some major screen time here. How long have I been out of this thing? Two whole volumes, without the almighty presence of Alucard. Travesty.

Thursday

I'm not really sure how I'm writing this entry; I'm not really sure how I'm doing anything at all, but we'll get to that later.

I suppose I should start with my landing. I finally arrived in London, but I was too late to help anyone. Millennium had attacked hours earlier, and the freaks roamed the streets, shooting puppy dogs and eating babies. Some of them were even telling retarded "dead baby" jokes.

"He, wie ist einen BMW anders von ein tausend toten Babys?"

„Ich weiss nicht."

„Ich habe keinen BMW in meine Garage."

Yeah. Crap like that. If you don't know what it means, that's good. You shouldn't.

So... where was I? Oh, yeah. The Nazis had already wreaked their havoc, and the Catholics were starting theirs. Maxwell had assembled some large army of freakin' KKK, and they were pretty much just shooting at everybody. No lie; they were legitimately Ku Klux Klan. Seriously. White hoods and everything.

The head crazy himself was standing in a glass box being dragged along by some helicopter. He had an ungodly amount of microphones, and was booming out death threats over some invisible speakers. I don't even know how that happened. Did he have them installed by ninjas or something?

Anyway, I decided to insert myself right into the middle of things. I jumped off a rooftop and flew into the middle of the KKK, _a la_ Batman, and right then is when the sh*t started to hit the fan.

I suddenly saw a swirl of floating, glowing papers, and lo and behold, the Judas Priest himself was standing two feet away from me. I started to get ready to fight, but all of a sudden, that werewolf from Millennium jumped off a different rooftop and landed two feet away from me. I found myself at the head of a sick, bloody isosceles triangle, and I wasn't sure which side I should attack first.

Luckily, I didn't have to think much about that. Out of nowhere, I saw my Master Integra. I was ecstatic. "Your orders," I rasped. "Give me your orders, my Master Integra Hellsing!"

She did not disappoint me.

With just a few short words, my entire Control-Art Restriction System had been released. Do you know what that means? Well, I'm going to tell you.

It means that every single life I've ever absorbed in my 500-some-odd years on this dirtball came pouring out of me like some sort of bloody, nasty, writhing flood. Which, of course, also means that both Nazis and KKK alike were pretty much toast by that point. None of them stood any sort of chance against my God-mode army of pure, unadulterated freakin' awesome.

Since my restrictions were released, I decided to shift back to my original form. You know, the medieval Vlad Dracul one. Which meant I suddenly had very messy hair, a large moustache and at least thirty freakin' pounds of armor on me. I don't know about you, but I really hate armor, and I instantly regretted deciding to wear it. Do you have any idea how immensely difficult it is to take a leak in that kind of thing? For a human, it takes hours to get it on, and still more hours to get it off, because after whatever battle it was just in it probably got covered in mud and blood and pee from other similarly armored warriors who just couldn't hold it in anymore, most likely including the wearer. I started to have bad memories, so I decided that if it ever came down to an actual fight, I'd lose the suit.

Well, I pretty much demolished everything. Predictably, Maxwell was wigging out inside his floating glass box, and I think Rip van Winkle was bored, so she shot his chopper down. I'm not exactly sure what happened next, because there was a lot of mayhem going on around me, but I've got a pretty good idea of the sequence of events. The glass crashes, Maxwell's still alive and inside the box. It's made out of, like, the glass equivalent of adamantium or something, so my lives can't break in and he starts cackling. But all of a sudden, out of nowhere, this bayonet comes sailing in like three ships on Christmas day and breaks the whole thing down in one fell swoop.

I honestly was not expecting that, to tell you the truth. I mean, yes Maxwell's obviously going loopy here, but I would never, EVER betray my Master like that, even if I had free will. Even I'm not that heartless.

But I digress. So, my lives kind of pour into the broken box and start dog-piling on Maxwell. It was like an American football game or something, where there end up being so many people in a heap that you don't even know where the ball is anymore. It was rather ridiculous.

And with that, the Archbishop ended up impaled by far more stakes than was necessary, in my opinion, and there he died, like some sort of nasty shish-kebab. I've eaten almost everybody who's died in this story so far, but there was no way I was going near that guy's blood. Besides, I guess I owed Anderson at least that much. The guy was about to break down inside, I'm telling you. He went over and started to sit down by his former boss, so I decided to leave him alone for a bit and drop in on my Master.

She was with Seras, who had, it seemed, sucked the blood of Pip Vernedead and transformed into a true vampire. FINALLY. You know, after all the complaining, the blood, the tears, I've always been proud of her. This might be sentimentality talking, but hey, I've got nothing better to do... but we'll get there in a bit.

She, of course, had to have a little giggle at my moustache. I mean, really? It's a 'stache. They used to be high fashion for THE LONGEST time; I think someday I'll try to get them back in style. She has no right to laugh, and I think she realized it, too, because she seemed really nervous.

Now, I don't know why, but I was suddenly overcome with sentiment, so I reach out and patted her head. Then, I did something I've never done before. I AUDIBLY ADDRESSED POLICE GIRL BY HER REAL NAME. Seras Victoria.

I'm still not sure what came over me. Perhaps I felt that she'd finally earned my respect. At any rate, it seemed to make her happy.

However, the touchy-feely-warm-happiness-scene was not fated to last more than a couple of seconds before it was back to the violence and away we go. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw flying, glowing papers, and immediately drew my broadsword.

Sure enough, Anderson appeared above me, poised to attack. I raised my sword, grinning like a crazy Johnny Depp.

Little did I know that this was fated to be my last encounter with the Judas Priest. It would be a terrible, bloody struggle the likes of which are not likely to be repeated, one that will remain in the history books forever and ever, Amen.

I, however, have run out of room for it, so I'm going to wait until the next entry. I know, I know; you all really, really, really want to kill me right now. That's the point.

Editor's Note: WAAAAAHHHHH! MAXWELL-CHAN!

_(Publisher's Note: You did such an awful job with his death.)_

**AN: Hey, I thought it was really touching.**

_**Critic's Note: I have to agree with Publisher. Your literary tears seemed a little forced.**_

**AN: Wait, what tears? Where are you getting this from?**

_(Publisher's Note: So, I heard you had some difficulties with a certain mercenary...)_

**AN: Oh, that. Turns out, he strayed outside the page border when he died. I had to remind him that he was supposed to be in Seras' arm, and forcibly shove him back into the story.**

Editor's Note: *sniff* Could you do the same thing for Maxwell-chan?

**AN: What, like bring him back to life by pulling him out of the story? Why would I do that?**

Editor's Note: Because I'll kill you if you don't...

**AN: WHAT?**

_(Publisher's Note: Editor, that was very out-of-character for you...)_

_**Critic's Note: Should I be worried about her..?**_

**AN: You know what, just get on with your critic thing. There's no point in trying to understand the crazy around here.**

***No language translators were used in the making of this entry. So if mein Deutsch ist falsch, please feel free to correct me.***


End file.
